


stolen moments

by shotacatboy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bottom Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Pre-Time Skip, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotacatboy/pseuds/shotacatboy
Summary: In the end, Dimitri is a captive—a simple prisoner to Byleth’s words and actions, entrapped by those dark eyes and the curve of his lips, as well as every word that falls from them. So obsessed with Byleth’s smile he has become, wanting to trace it using his thumb, watch that beautiful mouth part and whisper the praises Dimitri has been starved to hear.It is unrealistic and selfish, but he couldn't care less.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 20
Kudos: 416





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part one of two because this started getting too long for me. sorry! more tags will be added when i post the conclusion

Another peaceful day at Garreg Mach brings a warm, dark night at it’s end, the library windows opened a sliver to allow the entrance of cooling winds; and Dimitri, seated at a table with his nose buried in a book, is inevitably left alone to the whirling tornado that is his own thoughts.

He cannot help the incessant, nervous shaking of his right leg beneath the table, nor the stiffness in which he sits upright and squares his shoulders. Every sound he hears startles him, if just slightly, and he gradually brings the book he’s reading closer as a means to keep it away from any prying eyes that may enter his vicinity.

He frets, briefly, this anxious behavior may in itself look suspicious—but, then again, maybe not, as the few students that have come and gone paid him no mind thus far. He supposes he is being paranoid.

Still, the last thing he wants is anyone asking him any unnecessary questions. He is not sure he would be able to handle it, especially not given his current state of exhaustion. Even now his eyelids grow heavy, lashes fluttering, and despite halfhearted efforts to rouse himself his consciousness gradually slips away.

He’s an instant away from passing out entirely when the sound of distant footsteps startles him awake, turning his attention to the library’s entrance to see who would be arriving at this hour—besides him and the other stragglers, of course.

He blinks drowsily as his professor steps into view, holding a candle that casts his face in yellow light. As always he is composed, calm, paying no mind to Dimitri as he walks across the floor and begins examining a few books on one of the shelves.

_ He must not have noticed me,  _ Dimitri thinks. He raises a hand, wondering how he should greet him, but swiftly lowers it once more in hesitation. No, he doesn’t want to burden him.

Instead he remains silent, watching as Byleth pulls a book off the shelf with his free hand. He reads the cover, frowns, and returns it to his respective spot. Looking for something, no doubt.

Dimitri knows it logical to help but cannot peel his eyes away from the professor’s face, that seamless expression he yearns to comprehend.

Since their first meeting Dimitri has always figured him an anomaly, and can he really be blamed for that? It is not everyday one can encounter a person who bears little to no emotion, one wearing a permanently cold, calculating stare, possessing sword skills practically unmatched and the ability to lead others into combat with incredible tact.

The existence of a person as incredible as Byleth, Dimitri surmises, who shines this brightly in everything he does, should be impossible.

He isn’t sure how it happens. It must be a subconscious motion, maybe, that causes Dimitri to knock over the lantern at his side, causing it to fall over the edge of the table. Lightning-fast, he pushes back his chair and grabs hold of the handle just short of it hitting the ground. He heaves a sigh in relief.

Unfortunately, it catches Byleth’s attention. He whirls around, wide-eyed. Dimitri has barely beheld this foreign expression before it’s gone as fast as it’d come, and Byleth presses his lips into a thin line.

“Hello, Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s heart hammers in his chest. His ears burn in shame and he places the lantern on the table. “Professor,” he greets. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you out this late.”

“I could say the same to you,” Byleth replies. He tilts his head. “Are you feeling well?”

Dimitri bites the inside of his cheek, and instinctively chooses a lie. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

Byleth doesn’t reply. Dimitri notices he is looking at something, and it takes some effort to figure out what that is. His book. At the angle Byleth is standing he may be able to get a small glimpse...

Dimitri moves it slightly, obscuring it from view. “What were you looking for, Professor?”

He fears Byleth will start questioning him about his reading material, or why he had so conspicuously tried hiding it. But instead he lifts his eyes and says, “I’m looking up some records on dark magic, for next week’s lessons. I figured I should visit the library while it is empty so I could conduct my search, but alas…” He shakes his head, and gestures weakly at their surroundings. “There is a lot here. I’m not sure where to start.”

“I see.” Dimitri smiles, standing. “Allow me to assist.”

“Thank you.”

Dimitri grabs his lantern and steps past Byleth, perusing another nearby shelf until he finds what he’s looking for. He feels Byleth eyeing him, and swallows as he pulls out a book and holds it out for him to take.

“Here,” he mutters. “Is this what you wanted?"

Byleth reads the cover, nods. “Yes, perfect. Thank you again, Dimitri.”

“Have you… never been in a library like this?” asks Dimitri, keeping the conversation going. And he curses internally, wishing he hadn’t asked.  _ He used to be a traveling mercenary, of course he has! _

The answer he gets surprises him. “I don’t believe so. I didn’t do much outside my work, and whenever my father and I finished a job we simply moved on to the next.” He shakes his head. “You know, meditating on it, I don’t really remember much of my life prior to arriving at the monastery.”

How odd. Dimitri wonders how anyone could live in such a way, knowing only their work and nothing else. This isn’t to mention Byleth’s poor remembrance, which serves a separate anomaly entirely. It doesn’t make any sense.

“I am sorry,” Byleth says, likely due to Dimitri’s lack of a reaction. “It was not my intention to bore you.”

“No, it is not that. I am surprised, is all,” Dimitri admits. “You are a very… intriguing person, Professor.”

“You mean that as a compliment, I hope?” Byleth shifts the book he’s holding and tucks it beneath his arm. “Either way, I’d hate to intrude on your activities. I will see you during tomorrow’s lecture. He turns to leave, then stops. “Ah, but one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“I won’t be able to help you train the orphans this week, sadly,” Byleth says. Though he sounds remorseful, his expression does not change. “There is another business I must attend. I hope you understand.”

It is certainly disheartening. In fact, the upset Dimitri experiences is immeasurable, nearly instantaneous—but he swiftly stifles it, aware it is selfish to feel this way. He can’t expect every second of the professor’s spare time.

“Please, do not worry about it,” he says. “I’ll handle them well enough by myself.”

He isn’t too certain about this, but his words are enough for Byleth. His shoulders relax and he nods, solemn. “If there is any way I could make it up to you…”

“No,” Dimitri interrupts. “I mean it. Really. It’s fine.”

“Alright. I appreciate your kindness. Truly, I do.” Byleth dips his head, a curt nod. “Enjoy the rest of your night. And try getting some rest, if you can.”

Dimitri stares at the floor and sinks his nails into his palms, listening distantly as Byleth’s footsteps fade and disappear. Inside him multiple emotions arise, and he is left unsure whether they are positive or negative. There is disappointment, sure, knowing he will be training the monastery orphans alone, and yet…

Hearing Byleth’s voice in the midst of such a long, agonizing night had been… soothing.

***

Despite Byleth’s words, Dimitri does not get much sleep that night—or the several nights following, for that matter.

Saying this restlessness is a recent development would be an utter lie. While others dance to pleasant lullabies in their dreams Dimitri is always granted the same, gruesome nightmare, of flames scorching a clouded sky and people screaming as they run to and fro, trying to escape death but falling victim to the fires surrounding them.

He sees the friends he’d lost. He sees his family, too. His father, bearing so much hatred in his gaze, and his stepmother, rushing towards the deathly orange glow. And he hears their voices, loud and screeching, demanding recompense from those responsible for their deaths.

Their angry cries scramble and collide, having only grown louder since the tragedy. Every morning when he wakes Dimitri becomes increasingly determined to put an end to their misery, their eternal  _ suffering. _ It is the least he owes them.

Be that as it may, he fears his exhaustion may become too noticeable. 

Thus far, Dedue is the first to bring it up explicitly in conversation. Dimitri dismisses his pleas to rest impatiently, insisting he is fine and there is no need for worry. He stands his ground and eventually Dedue stops pestering, though Dimitri can see how his worry remains, clear as day.

He ignores it and dives deep into his studies, simply because it is the only thing he  _ can  _ do. His stubborn refusal to be content and the voices of the dead are the forces which drive him forward, and each passing day he brainstorms new ways to reach maximum efficiency, drowsy but determined nonetheless. After some internal debate he even requests some additional private instruction.

Expectedly, he is nervous as he asks. He cannot decipher what it is making him so apprehensive around the professor as of late, but it ceases importance. What matters at present is honing his skills.

Regardless, he fidgets instinctively under the extreme intensity of Byleth’s gaze. When Byleth steeples his fingers and leans forward, planting his elbows on his desk, Dimitri swallows.

“Is there something troubling you, Dimitri?”

_ Oh,  _ Dimitri thinks, for this is not what he’d been expecting. His arms stiffen from where they’re hidden behind his back.

“There is no need for concern, Professor,” Dimitri tells him, meaning to sound reassuring. “I am… most comfortable under your tutelage, and firmly believe your aid is beneficial in my studies.”

“I see.” Byleth sighs. “I am worried. About you. I would hate to see you become overworked…”

“You are too kind, Professor, but I am fine.” Somehow, Dimitri manages a smile. “Is it so wrong of me to want to spend more time with you?”

Byleth falls silent.

A long pause, and Dimitri clears his throat. “That was… a jest, of course.”

“I see,” Byleth repeats, softly, as he begins organizing his papers. “If I may ask. Extra lessons, alongside teaching swordsmanship to the orphans every week…” He quirks a brow. “Both at once would be requiring a lot from you.”

“I am aware,” Dimitri says, nodding, “and I don’t mind. But I can see how that might be asking a lot of  _ you. _ I am fine with it if you are.”

“It’s settled. Extra lessons officially start on Friday afternoon, considering you are available during the allotted period.”

Dimitri’s stomach flutters in relief. “I am.”

“Excellent.” Byleth nods. He waits several beats, and adds, “Would you care to join me for tea, Dimitri?”

“I… excuse me?”

“Apologies,” Byleth says. “I did not intend—”

“No, I am— You caught me off guard,” Dimitri admits. “I would love to.”

“Please, take a seat.” Byleth rises from his desk, going to retrieve a pot and some tea leaves from the cabinet.

Dimitri, meanwhile, slides into the spare chair opposing Byleth’s, unable to do so earlier out of nerves. His hands settle in his lap and he waits expectedly for Byleth to speak next. If he’d any words, they most certainly have been forgotten.

“Is there any particular tea you have a craving for?”

He shakes his head. “No,” he answers, distantly. It is all the same to him.

“I suppose I will choose at random,” Byleth decides. There is some shuffling, followed by the soft hiss of a kettle.

While he is turned away Dimitri takes the opportunity to stare at him thoroughly, at the lines of his back and the subtle shift of his muscles beneath his shirt whenever he moves. Such small details which allude to his strength, power Dimitri has seen in battle countless times.

He knows, doubtless, he would hate to be on the receiving end of Byleth’s blade. Those years spent working as a mercenary have justly made him an expert fighter and tactician, especially for someone only a few years Dimitri’s senior.

_ Viewing it like that,  _ Dimitri muses,  _ it somewhat makes sense why he was made an instructor here.  _ Or, at least, it is how he rationalizes it, anyway.

His grip tightens in his lap and he reminisces on the proposal he’d made during the night they met, when Byleth saved him and the other house leaders from those bandits.  _ When asked, he said his allegiance was to the Kingdom. Was it merely lip service, or…? _

“The tea is ready.”

Dimitri tears away from his reverie.  _ Has it really been that long?  _ he thinks, as Byleth lifts the teapot and reaches with his opposite hand towards the cups.

“Let me,” he says, and stands, a bit too suddenly. The chair’s legs scrape across the floor painfully loud. He winces.

Byleth does not comment, thankfully. “Appreciated.”

The cups are placed on the desk and Dimitri returns to his seat. Byleth pours the tea and the sound of liquid filling glass teleports Dimitri to simpler days; a curious boy wandering the palace halls and watching his stepmother sip her own tea at a distance, wanting to but not approaching.

He refocuses on his professor. “Which tea is it?” he asks.

“Chamomile,” says Byleth, pushing his papers gently aside. “I have an abundance of it, it seems. I hope it is satisfactory.”

Dimitri lifts his cup. Instantly, his senses are alight with a sweet, apple-like aroma, numbing and also somehow relaxing. The tension leaves his body in a wave, washed away and replaced by a sense of comforting warmth. He heaves a sigh.

“It smells amazing,” he whispers. He takes a slow sip, tasting nothing but still wanting to be considerate. “It is… very warm.”

Byleth nods. “I am glad you’re enjoying it.” Then he frowns. “It would taste better if we had some snacks, too, but sadly I am ill-prepared today.”

“It’s fine as is,” Dimitri assures him. “Honestly, I am flattered you would invite me to do this in the first place.”

“It is nice, being in your company,” Byleth replies. He sips his own tea and lifts his chin, glancing at the ceiling. “Besides that, it’s usually relaxing to take a seat and simply… breathe. You are working very hard and I’d hate to see you overwhelm yourself.”

Dimitri chuckles, uncertain. His fingers tighten around his cup. “You have noticed.”

“It’s my job to watch over my students,” Byleth says, matter-of-fact. “You are no exception, but I must say you have been doing great work recently.”

“I have?” Dimitri’s ears flush at the compliment, and he hopes it isn’t noticeable. He ducks his head slightly. “No, no, I am merely—”

He pauses mid-sentence, unsure.  _ Surely he would say the same to any of his other students. _

“I mean it. Sincerely,” Byleth says, despite the lack of facial change making Dimitri believe otherwise. “I could go over each of your strengths individually, but alas…” He rolls one hand in a vague gesture. “We are not in class, and I am sure you wouldn’t want me to bother you over things you already know.”

_ Bother?  _ Dimitri thinks.  _ No, I...I wouldn’t mind your praise in the slightest. _

He elects not to speak such embarrassing thoughts aloud, though, and instead indulges in more tea. A worthy distraction.

“Professor,” he says, “do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“About?”

“Yourself.” Dimitri takes a deep breath. “I am a bit curious… Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but you know so much about us students, but you remain a mystery to m— to us, I mean.”

Byleth contemplates Dimitri’s words, forefinger tracing along the rim of his cup slowly, and Dimitri belatedly notices he’s hardly touched his tea. It is a stark contrast to his own being nearly depleted.

_ Is he not enjoying it?  _ His heart drops into his stomach, and he slowly releases his cup lest he shatter it under his vice grip.  _ If that is the case, why did he ask to do this with me?  _ He winces as he reaches a realization.  _ Don’t be stupid. He’s being courteous, as any teacher would. _

This conclusion, which should be obvious in retrospect, upsets him. His heart drops to his stomach and he feels foolish for hoping there was something more to such a pleasant interaction, and further begs to question what he’d been hoping to gain to begin with.

Then again, the answer is clear. He seeks knowledge,  _ desperately, _ out of the need to understand his professor. It is clear Byleth isn’t the ruthless, merciless killer Dimitri once assumed him to be, but it is not enough. Dimitri wants to see the inner workings of his mind firsthand, study the gears turning in his brain and figure out what makes them work as they do.

Comprehending Byleth’s psyche isn’t his top priority. Far from it, surely, when he additionally gauges the muddled causes behind the tragedy and his deceased loved ones constantly shrieking in his ears, but it piques his interest nonetheless. Greatly so.

Byleth’s strength, he thinks, isn’t dissimilar to a god’s. And, considering Byleth’s ability to wield the Sword of the Creator, it isn’t such a fantastical thought, either.

Will that strength be able to aid him?

His palms grow sweaty beneath his gloves, and he regrets his earlier query. Byleth hasn’t answered but he doesn’t need to. Dimitri rises from his seat.

“Er… I am sorry, Professor, for prying. I might have gotten carried away for a second there.” His voice wavers slightly but he continues speaking despite it. “Thank you for the tea. I… would not contend to us doing this again sometime.”

The last part comes out without him thinking, and his flush returns, undoubtedly noticeable.  _ Fool!  _ he berates internally.  _ You utter fool! _

Yet Byleth, as per usual, doesn’t fail to surprise him. He nods, and Dimitri first sees a small light in his eyes, an inkling of emotion. Humanity.

“I will prepare some for our Friday lesson,” he agrees, “and bring snacks, as well.”

“Oh,” says Dimitri, dumbfounded. Processing the meaning in his words takes a minute. “I would rather enjoy that, Professor.”

Byleth dismisses him and he obediently exits his office, closing the door behind himself. The locks clicks as it shuts and Dimitri stands flabbergasted in the hall until a passing guard snaps him to attention. He makes his way to his room in a hurry, cheeks reddened.

He is incredibly giddy.

***

The coming weeks bring change, inevitable as summer slowly fades and makes way for autumn. The Horsebow Moon brings a frantic search for Flayn after her sudden disappearance, and whenever Dimitri catches sight of Seteth in the halls he emphasizes with the pure, unrestrained pain painting his expression, the fear Dimitri is aware a man like him would never normally let show.

He prays, for both Seteth and Flayn’s sake, that they can form a lead in the investigation and find her. Quickly. He is painstakingly familiar with what it feels like to lose a loved one, something he would never wish upon anyone else.

But, thankfully, they have Byleth on their side. When he returns to Dimitri after questioning people throughout the monastery he brings information he’d found on Jeritza, whose suspicious behavior and frequent late-night disappearances too closely align with the actions of a mysterious masked knight murdering villagers in town. A prime suspect in their search.

Needless to say, Dimitri never expects to see Manuela sprawled out on the ground in Jeritza’s quarters, knocked unconscious but alive. Dimtri assists Hanneman in carrying her to the infirmary and, in the process, misses the events following.

Ashe and Mercedes fill him in. About their encounter with the Death Knight, the same they’d fought at the Holy Mausoleum, and the battle ensuing. Fortunately they found Flayn (alongside another girl, curiously enough), and though the Death Knight escaped in the end Dimitri is more relieved to know everyone made it out alive.

What he least expects, however, is the upward tilt of Byleth’s lips—a small smile, which for a second seems so unlikely Dimitri figures it must be his eyes playing tricks on him. He’s so blinded by such a bright, blinding sight, moreover, that the instant it falls away he’s selfishly asking his professor to smile again.

Byleth looks at him through his peripheral, wordless. Then he turns towards Dimitri, slowly, and his smile returns full force, now undeniably real.

It takes all Dimitri’s effort to tear his gaze away from the line of Byleth’s mouth, for fear his staring might come off as strange. He murmurs a half-hearted apology and reciprocates his smile, but as Byleth makes his leave Dimitri begins imagining new ways he might make such a beautiful display grace him again.

Later the same day, in the dining hall, Dimitri hardly pays Sylvain any mind as he slides into the seat across from him and begins prattling about girls. He’s incapable of even paying attention, staring down at his food and picturing that smile, wondering why Byleth had responded to his light teasing so readily.

Sylvain’s voice eventually cuts through his daydreaming.

“What’s got you this worked up, Your Highness?” he asks, grinning slyly in juxtaposition with what should be a serious question. He rests his chin in one hand, leans forward across the table.  _ “Gods, _ are you flushed. Well, tell me what’s happening. Are you thinking about a girl? Is she pretty?”

“I—” Dimitri starts.

“Sylvain, enough,” Dedue warns from his side, stern. “It is not very noble behavior to poke fun at His Highness in such a way.”

“I wasn’t making  _ fun  _ of him,” Sylvain defends, scoffing. He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just curious, I swear.”

Dimitri stands abruptly. Both Dedue and Sylvain turn to him in shock, but he merely motions for them to remain seated. “I… am feeling under the weather, suddenly. I should get some rest. If you’ll excuse me.”

He doesn’t give them ample opportunity to respond. A headache pounds against his skull as he makes his leave, frustrated and confused.

_ A girl…  _ Oh, if only it could be that simple.

***

Dimitri refuses to allow much time for reprieve. Indeterminable feelings towards his professor or not, the Wyvern Moon is fast approaching—and, as such, so is the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

He cannot say he is particularly nervous. It is, on the contrary, quite difficult to be, when Byleth stands in front of the class and clenches his hands into fists, declaring he has no intentions of letting the Blue Lions lose this year. His words brim with enthusiasm, probably too much to be considered professional by teaching standards, but Dimitri is immediately emboldened.

His classmates obviously feel the same. Everyone dutifully listens to his instruction, and when class lets out they are almost always occupying the woods outside the monastery to train. Mercedes even remembers to show up, and is enthusiastic—albeit clumsy—wielding a sword. Byleth, nearly having his torso pierced by her blade, moves behind her to show her how to hold it properly.

His hands guide hers, letting the sword swing, and after several minutes of this he steps back to see how she does by herself. Sloppy, but better than accidentally slicing her comrades in half.

Dimitri watches them admittedly longer than necessary. For some reason seeing them stand so close causes bile to fill his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His hands shake where he grips his lance, and he thinks, sickly satisfied, that at least she is not granted as many private moments with the professor.

Still, Byleth has begun to emote more lately. Not solely in front of Dimitri, but  _ everyone.  _ It somewhat stings to realize his smile is not meant for Dimitri exclusively, and that when Dimitri is not looking there yet may be others making him smirk and laugh, hogging those beautiful expressions to themselves, unaware how special they truly are.

It disgusts him, knowing there are those who do not appreciate Byleth as he deserves to be appreciated. Value him for everything he is worth. Though it’s undeniable he is a valuable asset in combat, there is also much more to him. A wise instructor, a calm listener…

A good friend.

Dimitri swallows. Yes, he rather enjoys that thought.

He wonders if Byleth would, as well.

A nudge on his shoulder brings him back into reality. Dimitri blinks and sees Sylvain, looking smug as ever.

“Your Highness,” he says, “Felix asked me if you would be interested in sparring with him.” And he laughs as Felix groans from where he is standing a few feet away, appearing a lot less pleased than he is. “What?  _ You  _ were the one grumbling about it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Felix snaps. “Why are we just standing around talking when we could be training?”

Dimitri smiles. It is Felix asking, in his own way. “Let us get to it then, shall we?”

They continue for hours. At some point Annette and Mercedes return to the monastery together, lamenting about how tired and hungry they are, and asking if anyone would like to join them for tea and sweets. Unsurprisingly, Sylvain volunteers his company.

“Er, on second thought,” Annette says, covering her mouth to conceal a giggle, “Mercie and I are fine by ourselves.”

“What makes you say that?” Mercedes asks, puzzled.

_ “Because,  _ Mercie, it will… give us more time to bond. Yeah, that’s right!” She clasps her hands together decisively. “Thank you for the offer anyway, Sylvain. We should be going!”

More time passes and Felix and Sylvain make their exit, too, while Ingrid mutters something under her breath and follows behind the two. Ashe and Fylan leave separately a while after them.

With only him, the professor, and Dedue present, Dimitri takes a break to listen to the birds chirping overhead, the wind rustling the trees and the gentle crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet. It’s hard to believe autumn is already upon them.

This afternoon is peaceful. Dimitri glances over at Byleth, who is speaking to Dedue. At their current distance Dimitri can’t hear them, but he’s sure Byleth must be giving him advice. He approaches them.

Byleth smiles as he draws near. Unwillingly, his heart skips a beat. “Hello, Dimitri. We’re about done here, so you and Dedue are free to leave when you want.”

“A-are you sure? I can go for a while longer… if that is acceptable to you.”

“Your Highness…” Dedue begins.

Byleth cuts in. “Alright, but at the very latest we should head back at sundown. We do not want to be gone long enough that it causes concern.”

“We should not exhaust ourselves,” Dedue advices.

Byleth nods. “True. We can talk until our energy returns.”

Dedue’s expression shows he is not entirely satisfied with that response, but Dimitri has no intention of leaving. It is opportunistic, sure, but he wants to spend as much time around the professor as possible. A self-serving desire.

Sure enough, they stay and continue to clash blades until the sky pinkens and the sun begins dipping below the horizon. Byleth sheaths his sword and delicately moves the hair from his face, strands stuck to his forehead due to perspiration. Dimitri becomes inexorably fixated on the sight.

Dedue steps forward. “We should be going.”

“Yes,” Byleth agrees, breathless. “We should.” He looks between Dimitri and Dedue in turn. “Thank you, both of you, for staying out this late. Your efforts are greatly appreciated.”

Even Dedue shuffles a bit at the praise. Dimitri can admit he understands how he feels.

The trek back to the monastery is extremely pleasant. Dimitri walks at Byleth’s side and listens intently as Dedue, a few steps behind, tells them about the vegetation they pass.

“The temperatures will start dropping soon,” Dedue comments. “It won’t feel much different than being in Fhirdiad.”

“Yes, but winters in the Kingdom are much colder than it could ever get here,” Dimitri replies, shaking his head. “I think of it more as a… sample of what we get at home.”

Byleth hums. “I do remember you telling me about how cold it is in the north, Dimitri.”

“Have you never been in the Kingdom, Professor?” Dedue asks. “That is, prior to arriving at the monastery. You used to travel a lot as a mercenary, correct?”

Dimitri does not point out what Byleth told him in the library. About poor memory, and living life as if in an everlasting daydream.

There’s a long pause before Byleth answers.

“I’m sure I have.”

Unexpected. Dimitri turns to him and studies his expression, the same one he recognizes from when he’d first been appointed a teacher—but now there is something new, a small upward curl at the edge of his lips. Amusement.

Dimitri watches as a sweat droplet falls from Byleth’s face and trails down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. Then, catching himself staring, Dimitri flushes and rips his gaze away.

_ Ah,  _ he muses, and sucks in a breath.  _ At least I can finally understand what these feelings are. _

He has fallen in love. Wholly. Hopelessly.

***

He retires to his bedroom and gets changed into his nightclothes early that night, but he does not sleep. Rather his mind races at the implications of his epiphany, at what he is meant to do given the circumstances.

Confessing, he decides immediately, is out of the question. He can picture it clearly, the warm smile on Byleth’s face falling away and contorting into a scowl. He would not say he is disgusted, obviously—Dimitri is aware that he is far too kind for that, one of the many things he adores about him—but there is a chance he would  _ think  _ it, and it is enough. What last Dimitri wants is to shatter Byleth’s perception of him.

He sits on his bed. His right leg shakes incessantly.  _ Why,  _ something inside him whispers,  _ are you this obsessed with how he sees you, anyway? No matter what happens he will find out what you  _ really _ are eventually. _

He yearns for it to be untrue, but in the end he supposes it is inevitable. Byleth is remarkably intelligent, too observant for his own good. Though his eyes have softened, somewhat, they remain watchful as ever. In class and in training Dimitri can sense them tracking his every movement, seeking out an opening, a sign of weakness—and this is also not to mention that Dimitri can  _ still  _ never decipher what he is thinking. 

He buries his face in his hands.

Perhaps he will never understand Byleth. He does not expect to, not anymore. But maybe, if just for a while longer, he can pretend he’s able.

And, as he’s doing so, he can also pretend that, when Byleth smiles at him, it is something special. Meaningful. He can pretend Byleth feels the same way, or at the bare minimum loves him as he would a valued companion.

How selfish.

Yet, he cannot help wanting the professor to himself. Nor does he believe he will be able to stop vying for it, stealing as much of Byleth’s time as is feasibly possible. Not until Byleth pushes him away.

He sighs.  _ You shouldn’t indulge me as much as you do, Professor. _

In the end, he is a captive—a simple prisoner to Byleth’s words and actions, entrapped by those dark eyes and the curve of his lips, as well as every word that falls from them. So obsessed with Byleth’s smile he has become, wanting to trace it using his thumb, watch that beautiful mouth part and…

A slight twitch in Dimitri’s trousers, and he is gone. He closes his eyes and bites down on his lower lip, feels his face heat from shame.

Such are the fantasies of a young man, he supposes.

It is revolting, he knows, but what’s done is done. He shoves his embarrassment to the side for a moment, finds a comfortable sitting position on his bed and pulls the blanket over his head.

As he dips his fingers into the band of his pants he imagines how Byleth’s hands would feel, touching him. They are rough, surely, due to years of working as a mercenary, but Dimitri has never been one for tenderness. Rough treatment is what he deserves—

_ Goddess, _ he thinks, sliding his free hand up his shirt to pinch a nipple. He gasps lightly and finds a firm grip on his cock, already hard and leaking, begging for attention. He shudders as he rubs over the tip.

“Professor,” he whispers into his empty room, rubbing himself slow at first but eventually picking up the pace as his impatience grows. Being covered by the blanket further accentuates the heat, making him slightly dizzy, but he can’t find the energy to care. He pants heavily as he approaches the edge. “Please, Professor…”

He gives a swift stroke upward and comes undone, moaning softly as he releases against his hand. His head spins and he takes a moment to recollect his bearings, catching up to the reality of what he’s done. He glances at his hand and is overcome with disgust.

He doesn’t sleep much after that.

***

The next week comes and goes, and after training on one particular day Dimitri is half startled when Byleth approaches him from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder. He jumps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Byleth says. Dimitri faces him and he smiles, softly. “Are you available? If so, would you like to join me for tea?”

“Yes,” Dimitri whispers, smiling too. “Thank you, Professor.”

They sit across from each other at an outside table near the gazebo, and Dimitri is shocked to learn there are tea and snacks already prepared. On a silver platter at the center of the table are assorted cookies and two slices of delicately cut cake, two forks and two tea cups.

This was premeditated.

Byleth laughs, and the sound is like music to Dimitri’s ears. “I may be somewhat foolish,” he admits. “I had planned on you saying yes.”

“Seeing as how often we’ve had tea during our private lectures, I do not think planning on an acceptance was such a risky move,” Dimitri says.

“Ah, yes, well, you are a prince. You must be busier than even I,” Byleth replies, “and, besides, we haven’t been able to have a private instruction since recovering Flayn.”

It’s true. They have enough extra training together preparing for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion alongside the rest of the class. Though their time together during those hours aren’t spent alone, Dimitri does determinedly stay longer than the rest. His muscles ache but it is worth the reward of seeing Byleth.

And, whether positive or negative, it has further flowered his adoration towards the professor. It is undeniable. Merely sitting together like this enough to make his knees quake.

He vies for something to say. “Y-yes, Flayn,” he stammers, stupidly. “She has been very exuberant lately. I am sure she is excited for her first mission.”

Byleth nods. “Then we have no choice but to claim victory.”

Dimitri laughs. “You sound confident,” he says.

“I am,” Byleth agrees. He reaches for a cookie and nibbles on it thoughtfully. “I have confidence in my class.” He gazes at Dimitri quite seriously. “And in you, Dimitri.”

“I… Of course.” Dimitri is unsure how to feel when Byleth looks at him like that. He waits for Byleth to say more, but when he doesn’t, he adds, “I will always follow you, Professor. You can count on me.”

“I know I can. You are a very loyal person. It is what I like so much about you.”

Byleth’s words have an immediate effect. Dimitri can feel his cheeks warm, his hands shake. A lump forms in his throat and he swallows, willing his heartbeat to slow. It thunders torturously loud in his ears.

“But you should know the reverse is also true. I am here whenever you need me, Dimitri, and I always will be. Just as well…” He straightens in his chair, squares his shoulders. “There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dimitri takes a long sip of his tea. The sweet scent of chamomile manages to calm him, somewhat. “Yes?”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

A hand shoots across the table. Dimitri does not quite process the sensation of Byleth’s fingers curling around his own, palm pressing against his, until Byleth has too soon pulled away and left only the warmth behind. He stares down at his own hand, half-wondering if what had happened was even real.

“Is there anything you need?”

“Excuse me?” Dimitri forces out, a bit flustered.

“Please don’t be cross with me,” Byleth says, “but certain individuals have brought to my attention some… concerning behaviors, and I figured it best to speak to you outright.”

Dimitri’s heart sinks. He feels idiotic, thinking Byleth had simply wanted to spend time with him.

He lowers his brows. Certain individuals…

“Do you mean Dedue?” he asks. Byleth presses his lips into a thin line and does not answer. “What are the ‘behaviors’ they talked to you about?”

“I do not see the need to state them aloud, if you already know what they are,” Byleth replies easily. That certainly doesn’t help Dimitri feel any better. “It is not just the people who approached me noticing oddities. I do recall some time ago when I found you late at night in the library.”

Dimitri speaks carefully, though he is tense. “What does that mean?”

“Is there something the matter?” Byleth asks. “I am not speaking to you now to scold you, nor give you unsolicited advice. As I’ve already stated, I trust you. I only want to know… if there is anything you need. Assistance, maybe. Or a small push in the right direction.”

“Why are you offering me this?”

Byleth sighs. “Isn’t it obvious? I care about you. Deeply. And I am also your teacher. I wish to guide you.”

“Professor…” Dimitri’s lashes flutter shut, and he considers how he should answer. “You have no idea how comforting that is.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone,” Byleth says, “because you’re not. There are many who love and cherish you, me included. No matter what it is, please… Let me know what you need. I want to help.”

Dimitri opens his eyes. Byleth’s expression has softened into something gentle, kind. His left hand rests idle on the table and Dimitri longs to reach for it just as Byleth had his a few moments ago.

“I do have a request,” Dimitri says at last, “but it does not pertain to any of what you mentioned earlier.”

“Oh?” Byleth blinks, surprised, and leans back in his seat. “If that is not it, then what do you desire, Dimitri?”

_ Desire.  _ Dimitri wets his lips, almost laughing at the choice of words. There are  _ many  _ things he desires, more than life itself, but he fears if he speaks them the response he earns may be less than satisfactory.

So instead, he shakes his head and smiles. He chooses the easiest answer. “What I desire… Well, I want you—” He falters, then starts again. Steeling his resolve. “Forgive me, but if it is not too much to ask… I would like to spend more time with you. Alone. I find it, ah, rather comforting, to be in your presence.”

He flushes despite himself, and the way Byleth eyes him,  _ observing  _ him, does not help to quell his nerves. He inhales deeply and prepares for the refusal, the rejection, the—

Byleth’s smile broadens. “Consider it done.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not supposed to be this long i am so sorry oh my gosh

Byleth doesn’t go back on his promise. It isn’t as if Dimitri expects him to—but he _is_ surprised at how often Byleth approaches him, whether it be after lectures or during their free time on Sundays, politely inviting him either outside for a walk or to his office for tea. Dimitri would be hard-pressed to refuse.

There are instances where he worries he may become an unnecessary distraction for his professor, but his fear is placated quickly when Byleth assures him the opposite is true.

“Honestly,” Byleth says, as they’re standing together overlooking the sight beneath the bridge, “the moments we’ve spent have been… enlightening. I get a chance to clear my head a bit, take a deep breath and relax. I cherish you, and our time together, greatly.”

Dimitri confesses that he agrees. Whenever he feels he is at his lowest, about to fall into a pit of his despair, there is his professor. _Byleth,_ holding out his hand, grabbing his and kindly pulling him from it, unaware he is doing so.

He wishes he could put it into words, but voicing such a thing would be, he thinks, too close to an outright confession. He can’t say anything that would push Byleth away, not when they’ve made it this far.

He’s being greedy enough, hoarding Byleth’s attention like this, but he craves more. More smiles, more laughs, more brief touches on his shoulders and his wrists, making the blood sing in his veins.

Dimitri especially loves Byleth’s uncouth mannerisms during their tea sessions, scarfing down sweets he particularly enjoys and speaking through a mouth half-full, downing his food with large swigs of tea. Since he began emoting more frequently Dimitri supposes his inhibitions have mostly dissipated, as well.

An odd man, but the one wielding the key to Dimitri’s heart.

During the hours they are not together, too, Dimitri thinks of him quite often. When he is not caught up in his research or being tormented by the voices in his head his thoughts frequently drift to his professor, and on common occasions a lone night would find him engaging in behaviors far too unbecoming of a prince.

It isn’t long until the clumsy strokes on his cock bring an unfulfilling release. Seeking to improve his pleasure, he precures a glass phial of oil and tumbles onto his bed, pouring the viscous liquid onto his fingers before he’s inserting one inside himself and moaning quietly at the sensation it elicits.

It does, at first, bring an painful sting, but through sheer willpower and practice Dimitri adjusts and it becomes more pleasurable. He adds a second finger for good measure.

Whenever he is in the throes of such activities he falls into salacious fantasies and, as per usual, Byleth is the starring role.

He envisions Byleth, smiling sweetly, murmuring gentle praise as he thrusts slowly into him, intently listening to the sounds Dimitri makes and telling him how good he is. In most fantasies Byleth claims him on a bed, though it could also be on the desk in his office or, scandalously enough, inside the classroom.

It doesn’t matter where. Always, Byleth treats him as if he is something to be treasured. Protected. Dimitri cries out brokenly and pushes back against his fingers, seeking out the climax he knows isn’t far from his both metaphorical and literal grasp.

And, finally, it hits. White floods Dimitri’s vision and he bites his pillow to stifle his shout, thrusting weakly into the fist around his cock and milking his orgasm for all it is worth. Once it has passed it takes a while to catch his breath.

Exhaustion droops at his eyelids and he thinks, maybe, he will get a decent night of slumber—but then the ghosts visit again, screaming, and he sighs, rolling over onto his side. He drags his blanket over his torso.

 _Please,_ he begs.

He does not know what he’s asking for.

***

“The Battle of the Eagle and Lion is nearly upon us,” Byleth says. He shifts his gaze over each of his students in turn, body and expression held in the same, serious demeanor he regularly adorned earlier in the year. “We will be heading out alongside the other classes momentarily. Are you thoroughly prepared?”

It is Dimitri who answers, stepping forward. “Yes, we handed off our essentials to the guards not long ago. We are ready for our departure.”

“I only wish I’d had the opportunity to prepare a few sweets,” Mercedes says, wistful, from where she stands besides Annette. “The sugar would’ve helped keep our energy up.”

“Yes,” Felix mutters, “until our bodies inevitably crashed.”

Annette glares daggers at him. “Felix! Mercie’s trying to be nice. Unlike a certain _someone_ we know.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Dimitri sighs. “I am sorry, Professor. It appears we’re full of energy.”

“Do not apologize,” Byleth replies. He laughs lightly, and Dimitri tries to ignore how it makes his heart leap in his chest. “I am glad. Such energy is what will likely grant us victory on the battlefield, wouldn’t you say?”

“It would be wise not to let Claude and Edelgard hear you say that,” Dimitri advises, amused. “They would jump at the opportunity to prove you wrong.”

“In that case I suppose it is a good thing I won’t be proven wrong, no matter the circumstances.” A competitive light flashes in Byleth’s eyes. “We _will_ win, Dimitri. Did you not tell me yourself I could rely on you?”

Dimitri does not get the chance to answer him. Footsteps approach and one of their escorts, a guard, taps on Byleth’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “Professor, there aren’t enough of us to take everything. Do you mind asking a few students to carry the extra food?”

“It is not an issue,” Byleth says. “I do not mind volunteering.”

“Fine, but we’ll need at least one more.”

“Me,” Dimitri chimes in, probably a bit too quickly. Catching the demanding tone in his response, he clears his throat and amends, “The added weight would surely strain your muscles, Professor, and have adverse effects on your fighting. It would be less strenuous with someone assisting you.”

Byleth blinks, then nods. “Alright, it is settled.” He faces the guard. “Are we enough?”

“Yes… Yes, I would assume so. Come along, and we’ll hand the bags off to you.”

Byleth motions to the other students that they’ll return and both he and Dimitri follow the guard. Dimitri stares awkwardly at the ground a while, figuring he should start a conversation but being left unsure what to say.

In the end, they are silent. The guard leads them outside and shows them to the three bags they’ll be carrying. Byleth hauls one over his shoulder. Dimitri, leaning down as well, grabs hold of the remaining two.

“Ah, Dimitri,” Byleth says, “is it alright?”

“It’s not a problem,” Dimitri replies. As he says it he realizes it might sound like bragging, but in truth the effort it takes to carry them is spectacularly minimal. He flushes, however, and elects not to add that for fear it would _actually_ sound like he’s gloating.

Byleth doesn’t press further. “We should return,” he says instead. “I don’t think our opponents will want to wait up for us.”

He is correct. It isn’t long after they return to the entrance hall that the classes begin to depart, with Byleth expectedly leading the Blue Lions. Dimitri walks several paces behind him and minutely considers picking up his pace to be at his side, but decides against it when he considers his classmates not too far away.

As much as he longs to be around Byleth… There will be whispers.

It’s not as if there aren’t already—surely there are, since their shared time hasn't always been at private locations—but in an environment where everyone is so close together and remaining watchful due to the approaching mock battle… Well, Dimitri would rather spare both him _and_ Byleth the embarrassment.

He sighs, an action which does not go unnoticed by Dedue. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

Dimitri glances back at their classmates. When he sees no one is paying them any particular attention, he answers, quietly, “Do you really need to ask that?”

Dedue does not respond right away, but his expression is knowing.

If anyone was to find out about Dimitri’s feelings first, it would be him. He is, after all, always nearby, and ever observant at that. He need see Dimitri blushing only a few times before he’s able to piece together how such a blush only appears when he has been around the professor.

“Yes, I am aware,” Dedue says, lowering his voice to match Dimitri’s. He does not sound disapproving, merely taken aback. “There is a chance you could be confusing admiration for adoration…”

“No, I’m… I am sure,” Dimitri tells him. He adjusts the bags in his grasp. “What are… your thoughts?”

“I cannot say it wouldn’t be beneficial,” Dedue replies, and cups his chin as he considers. “Having the professor around would keep you a lot more safe when you eventually ascend the throne. And a union—”

“A union?” Dimitri repeats, words hissed out through a forced whisper. His stomach turns at the prospect alone. “You misunderstand, Dedue, it isn’t as if we’ll ever be _married.”_

“You—”

“Oh, boy,” interrupts Sylvain, materializing seemingly from thin air, “what are _you_ two talking about?” He forcefully slots himself between them, grinning, awaiting an answer. When he doesn’t get one, he pouts. “C’mon, it must’ve been a really juicy conversation if you were talking so quietly.”

Dedue furrows his brows. “It isn’t your concern, Sylvain. I must request you not be rude to His Highness.”

“If I had a bullion for every time you told me that…” Sylvain shakes his head. “I’d be twice as rich!”

“Sylvain, please,” Dimitri says, still a bit startled. He’s at least glad Sylvain hadn’t heard the bit about marriage. “Isn’t there anyone else here who can entertain you?”

“Any girls, you mean?” Sylvain’s eyes widen. “You want me to go flirt, Your Highness? I must admit I’m surprised at your sudden change of heart.”

 _“No,_ I—” Dimitri groans. “Never mind. Pester us if you must. Anything to stop you from harassing innocent colleagues.”

“You wound me,” Sylvain says. “But, if I’m being honest, the Imperial princess looks _especially_ radiant today. Hubert will probably try killing me if I get too close, but do you th—”

“Don’t.”

“Not confident in my abilities, huh?”

“Sylvain, I am begging you,” Dimitri pleads, any previous embarrassment falling away to slight irritation. “We should be focusing on the battle ahead. Save your flirtatious endeavors for when we return to the monastery.”

Whatever Sylvain plans to retort next goes left unsaid as Ingrid grabs his earlobe, yanking it mercilessly. “Sylvain, would it trouble you to keep your voice down? You’re making too much noise.”

 _“Ow,_ Ingrid, I was— Ouch! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”

“Hush!”

“I'll behave! I’m sorry!” Sylvain says again, albeit quietly.

Things quiet after that and Dimitri shifts his attention to the horizon ahead, the stray clouds floating in the afternoon sky. He thinks about the rest of their trek, when they’ll cross the Great Bridge of Myrddin and take a break for the night before they arrive at Gronder Field in the morning.

The mock battle won’t be easy. Edelgard and Claude are worthy adversaries—Edelgard, bearing brutal strength and a headstrong, all-out approach, and Claude, wielding various schemes and a mastery in long-ranged combat. They’ll need to play it smart for a chance to win.

Despite this, the professor’s confidence instills in him great conviction. Byleth has previously gone over multiple plans of action for the battle, and it is entirely possible he is coming up with additional avenues at present, ideas that may be grander. Dimitri is certain he will want to speak with the class later to discuss these in detail.

Lingering worry remains, of course, but caution is important. It would be foolish to jump in carelessly.

The very same, he cannot contain his excitement. He looks forward to putting everything Byleth taught him thus far to good use.

***

The following day arrives and brings the commencement of the mock battle, and by extension the loud clashing of swords on Gronder Field as shouting emanates from every direction and students in all three classes engage one another, aiming to claim the center fortress.

Amidst the chaos, Dimitri listens for Byleth’s voice. His commands ring out over the noise as the Blue Lions continue their advance, kept in close proximity to prevent anyone from straying and getting caught in a bad situation.

Byleth defeats an Alliance soldier and turns back to the group. “Mercedes! Flayn! Allies in need of assistance to the northeast. Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain! Go with them for backup, and, if the coast is clear, rush the center when you’re finished. Everyone that remains, keep advancing!”

“Is it safe to split up like this?” Ashe asks. He nocks an arrow and fires it in the direction of the fray, then runs closer and skitters to a halt at Dedue’s side. “Besides that, Mercedes and Flayn are the only ones who know white magic. Who’ll help us?”

“I will,” Byleth replies, but doesn’t elaborate. A heavily-armored unit towards him and he quickly disarms them, sweeping his feet and sending them tumbling to the grass. “There’s no time to waste, lest our numbers keep dwindling. Let’s go!”

Dimitri knows there’s no use in arguing. Byleth runs ahead and he trails behind him unflinchingly. He can hear their classmate’s footsteps not far off. Their current position, he notes, is close to the blunt of the fighting, where the Black Eagles and Golden Deer are presently gripped in a colorful blur.

He sees the archers on the Golden Deer's side next, and the way they slowly raise their bows...

Someone calls out his name, but he isn’t sure who. All he knows is the oncoming arrows, and how one manages to catch his shoulder, sending searing pain throughout his body. He flinches but does not falter, and rips it out with a wince.

He can worry about it later.

Ahead, Byleth engages Petra, a Black Eagles student, their swords meeting in lightning speed succession. At the approach of more Imperial soldiers Dedue, Ashe, and Annette move in to assist him. Dimitri joins as well, swinging his lance and sending a nearby mage flying backward.

Eventually Byleth overpowers Petra, jamming the butt end of his sword against her ribcage and using his strength to shove her on the ground, holding his blade close to her throat.

“You are injured,” he says, unblinking. “Retreat.”

Petra does not hesitate. She grabs her sword from where it's landed and picks herself off the ground, nodding respectfully at the professor. “It was an honor. Your class is very powerful.” Then, in a flash of feet hitting dirt, she is gone.

Dimitri opens his mouth to offer praise but stops when he notices an approaching figure and an axe swinging through the morning air, aimed straight at Byleth.

“Professor—”

He barely heeds the warning in time. The axe pierces his side, but he leaps away prior to receiving any significant damage. The hand not clutching his sword falls to his side and Dimitri blanches at the blood pooling over his glove.

“Professor,” Edelgard says, “and Dimitri, too. I’m glad you are well.”

“You have a brutal swing,” Byleth comments, keeping his gaze locked on hers. “If I hadn’t avoided it when I did I’d probably be dead right now.”

“Oh, calm down. It’s all in good fun.” She smiles, though, preening at the praise. “Wouldn't you say it's rather exciting?”

Dimitri has no idea how she can be so casual about cutting open someone’s waist—in fact, it makes him feel slightly ill—but currently it matters not. He charges for her, raising his weapon.

She meets his lance with the handle of her axe. Strong, but Dimitri is stronger. He pushes her back and uses the opportunity to swing upright, ripping the axe from her grasp. It flies high and lands somewhere in the grass behind them, and Dimitri prepares to tell her to surrender.

He isn’t given a chance. A burst of white magic is sent in her direction and she shrieks, tumbling at the impact. She hits the ground.

"How upsetting," she says. Slowly, she rises to her feet. “I can’t believe this.”

“It was a valiant attempt, Edelgard,” Dimitri tells her.

“So it was; but don’t think for a second the ones remaining won’t be able to pull off a victory.”

She retreats. Dimitri spins and faces his professor, whose fingertips are glowing and healing the wound on his side. After several seconds the bleeding stops.

“When did you learn…”

“Another time,” Byleth dismisses. “You did great work.” When the others approach, having cleared away the other nearby foes, he adds, “Do any of you need assistance? If not, we need to keep going. Come along.”

They obey. Soon, the five that had split up from them re-emerge and, class restored, they storm the center.

***

The Blue Lions win.

It wasn’t an easy triumph by any means. Dimitri’s entire body weeps from the exertion the fighting required, and the spot on his shoulder where the arrow had pierced him grows a dull ache—but he is _happy,_ undeniably, as are his classmates. Though their exhaustion is mutual, so is their excitement.

Their injuries are light save for Annette, who winds up branding a deep gash on her outer thigh. She refuses to let it deter her, and after a visit to Professor Manuela she joins Mercedes in fantasizing about which treats they plan on baking when they return to the monastery.

They set up camp for the night and there is a large bonfire once the sun sets, along with the passing of their pre-packed rations as everyone chats amongst each other and shares scary stories. Some are good, while those that aren’t bolster mixed laughter and boos.

Dimitri, seated between Dedue and Mercedes, cannot help but let his mind wander to the professor, who at present is not engaging in the merriment. He’d disappeared into the medical tent a while ago, but hasn’t come out since. Dimitri worries over whether he is alright.

Dedue notices. “You should go check on him,” he suggests, and Dimitri shakes his head.

“No, no, I do not want to seem obsessive…”

“I believe he would appreciate your company.”

Dimitri ponders this. _He has said he enjoys my company in the past,_ he thinks, _but there’s a chance he is occupied… I wouldn’t want to intrude._

And yet… Dimitri longs for it, the opportunity to be selfish. He’s shoved aside his desire the entire trip, and now their victory has granted them so much happiness he wants nothing more than to share it with Byleth. He wants to see his smile again.

He stands. “I’ll only be a minute,” he says, and doesn’t wait for approval. He leaves the group and makes way for the medical tent.

When he parts the flap and enters, it’s to the sight of injured students and soldiers lying atop cots. He looks at them but does not see Byleth, and when Manuela spots him she waves and asks, “Are you searching for your professor, by any chance? Apologies, but he left not too long ago.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri replies, and ducks out. He stands against the frigid night air and considers where Byleth might be, to no avail. It simply isn’t like him to miss out on the fun like this, not when earlier he cheerfully spoke about celebrating their success.

For a second, he considers the worst. Has the professor gone missing? Did he disappear into the woods somewhere and get lost? Dimitri’s heart clenches at the endless, nightmarish possibilities, and rather than waiting around he decides to go searching.

Thankfully, it does not take long, and the professor is unharmed. Dimitri makes out Byleth’s silhouette in the dark, seated on a rock not far from the camp. Dimitri’s feet crunch against the undergrowth as he steps closer, and Byleth lifts his head.

“Ah, Dimitri,” he says. “It is you. Why are you not having fun?”

“I could ask you the same.” Dimitri meets his eyes, which remain indecipherable as always. A slight slight pulls at his lips, and he attempts to lighten the somber mood. “You were the reason we were able to win today.”

“No,” Byleth says, “I wasn’t. You and your classmates, you each contributed in your own ways. I am proud.”

“If that is the case, why are you not smiling? You don’t appear very happy.”

“Do not fret over me. I am merely contemplating.”

Dimitri lists his head. “Over what?”

“It is trivial,” Byleth says. He scrutinizes Dimitri a long moment, then scoots over and motions for him to sit. “Come. There is something I must attend to.”

Dimitri doesn’t like the sound of that, but he cannot say no to his professor. He sits and becomes acutely aware of just how close they are, his thigh a mere brush away from touching Byleth’s. He blushes, hoping it isn’t visible in the dark.

He heats more as Byleth leans closer into his space, hand landing on his shoulder. His touch is unbearably warm even through Dimitri’s clothes and, like fire, it consumes every fiber of his being, encompassing him in what is somehow both an unsettling and pleasurable embrace.

He flinches, however, when Byleth’s thumb sinks into the spot he’d taken the arrow.

“Why didn’t you get this looked at?”

Ah. As predicted, Dimitri is unable to sneak anything by his professor. He tries pulling away, but Byleth’s grip tightens.

“It was… The bleeding stopped hours ago,” he forces out, stupidly.

Byleth glares at him. “Dimitri,” he says, “you are smart. Smarter than _this.”_ He massages his thumb over the point of impact, gentle, and Dimitri barely stifles a low groan. “For my sake, at least, please put more value in yourself.”

“Professor, I—” Dimitri sputters, at a loss. It doesn’t help that Byleth’s leg is pressed fully against his now, or how his breath fans over Dimitri’s face. “It wasn’t… I won’t—”

“It is alright.” Byleth sighs. “Don’t move. I’m going to heal it.”

“Yes,” Dimitri relents, as Byleth’s hand glows and presses down on his injury. It hurts, but only for a second, and fades into a warm, satisfying tingle. “T-thank you, Professor.”

“Keep an eye on it,” Byleth advises, letting his hand fall away. Dimitri is disappointed at its loss. “I am not the most proficient in faith magic, as I’ve started learning it very recently, but it should suffice. Speak to Manuela if it starts hurting or becomes swollen.”

“I...I will.”

“Will you?” Byleth asks, and spikes a brow. He leans back and regards Dimitri with an unreadable expression. “I find it hard to believe.”

Dimitri nods quickly, seeking his approval. Seeking his _smile,_ nestled somewhere beneath that despondent look. “Yes, for you… I will.”

“Dimitri, you are misunderstanding.” Byleth shakes his head. “I don’t want you to do it for me, but for _you._ You may not see your worth but _I_ do, every day. You are _incredible,_ and special. Intelligent. Powerful.” He pauses, eyes sliding shut as if he is deep in thought. “I adore these things about you.”

“Professor…” Dimitri trails off, replaying those words in his head over and over, letting them sink in. His heart thunders in his chest and he thinks this must be a dream, another fantasy of his, and that he might wake up at any moment—but when he pinches his arm Byleth hasn’t disappeared, and rather fixes him with such a fond smile Dimitri feels like he’ll collapse on the spot.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, pressing his fingers upon his heated cheeks. _I love you so much it aches._

Aloud, he says, “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Byleth grasps Dimitri’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face, a gesture so gentle Dimitri at this point is practically melting. He again flusters at their proximity, and thinks if he were to dip his head just slightly he would be able to capture Byleth’s lips in a kiss.

He doesn’t, of course, but it is tempting.

He’s not sure how long they stare at each other, but soon enough Byleth is standing and taking his warmth, yawning into his fist in a manner Dimitri can simply describe as adorable. “We’ve been here too long already. Let us go join the fun.”

Dimitri swallows and stands as well. His knees are weak, but not from sitting.

“Y-yes, Professor.”

***

The arrival of the Red Wolf Moon brings a new mission. Byleth begins the first week by explaining to the class they’ll be traveling to Remire Village to investigate some strange happenings, the location in particular being what startles Dimitri into alertness.

“It’s where we met,” he says aloud, and Byleth nods, grim.

“My father and I… we know the people of Remire well. I hope they are safe.”

Byleth is calm as always but Dimitri can sense his subtle apprehension, which persists silently as the moon drags on—and, though Dimitri is disheartened that Byleth has started asking him to tea less prominently, he is more worried about whether his professor is doing well. Emotionally.

On several separate occasions Dimitri tries bringing it up in conversation, but he falters. He cannot bring his mouth to speak the words, not when Byleth smiles at him so warmly despite his upsets. As an instructor and a role model Dimitri guesses he feels the need to remain strong for the others.

Dimitri somewhat understands what he is going through.

As a result, this moon's dark nights find Dimitri wandering the monastery due to his inability to sleep, leaving his dorm because he cannot even gather the energy to touch himself as he normally does—why would he, when he shivers at the thought of Byleth's fear, drowning in it as if it was his own?

Tonight his feet take him to the cathedral. And he isn't alone, he notices, spotting another lone figure a few meters ahead. He recognizes that silhouette anywhere.

"Professor," he whispers, and Byleth turns. His features are pulled tight in such a way his emotions are non-revealing.

"You again." Byleth steps closer, and stops several centimeters away. He stands slightly shorter but Dimitri still feels small under his stare. "It is funny. Even when we do not seek each other out, we manage to meet anyhow."

"True enough," Dimitri replies, amused at the idea. "Some would call it fate."

Byleth's eyes glint in the shadows. "Fate?" he echoes, and the way he says it, asking it like a question, puzzles Dimitri. There's something he is missing, but Byleth doesn't elaborate.

Awkwardly, he looks down at his boots. "Y-yes," he answers. "Fate, as in... Fate such as _us…_ destined to be around one another…"

"Interesting." Byleth rubs his thumb along his chin, pondering. "What about you? Do _you_ believe in such a concept? Fate?"

Dimitri silences a laugh. "Professor, you have been around me enough to know the answer."

"I have. But inexplicably, I yearn to hear you speak your mind."

"You are a teacher. Of course you do."

"That is not what I meant," Byleth insists. "Please, Dimitri, we are alone. Tell me what you are thinking."

"Why do you want to know?"

Byleth reaches forward suddenly and grabs his forearm, holding it in a vice grip. Dimitri has the ability to pull away, but Byleth's persistence weakens his resolve.

"Because I care about you, more than I am able to admit," replies Byleth, "but also because I am selfish. I want—no, I _need_ —to know what you think of _me,_ as well."

"Then I must be selfish, too." Dimitri licks his lips, uncertain. "I cannot tell you, either, because I am afraid to accept it."

"Accept what?"

Dimitri does not reply. He gazes at Byleth longingly in hopes he will understand and, after a short pause, he does. He releases Dimitri's arm and nods.

"Dimitri, I would never fault you for what you feel."

He remains silent. Byleth presses further.

"I am serious. No matter what, I will accept it. I will accept _you,_ for everything you are."

Nothing. Dimitri's tongue feels dry. Yet, in spite of it, he is oddly relieved. Now he does not need to experience the pain of hiding his feelings anymore.

Byleth keeps speaking. "You are not convinced, but it is alright. At least let me tell you this one thing."

"Yes?"

"Some time ago, I had told you that, for me, killing was never easy. I was lying. Back when I was a mercenary, killing was just part of the job. I thought nothing about the lives I took, only that it meant completing my task. I did not pity them, nor mourn them." Byleth exhales. "They were just targets. However, I told you the opposite in hopes it would placate your worries. I am sorry."

"Professor—"

"Does this upset you?"

Dimitri winces. "Yes," he admits, "it does."

"Does it change your feelings for me?"

"No," Dimitri says, immediately. "You are different, separated from the person you were during your mercenary days. You were so distant at the beginning of the year, and it made me slightly weary, but—"

This is apparently the incorrect answer. Byleth purses his lips, and raises a hand for silence. "You needn’t explain. I understand clearly."

"Professor…"

"Have a lovely night, Dimitri."

Byleth swiftly exits the cathedral.

***

Five days prior to their scheduled departure Byleth all but bursts into the dining hall, hair left uncombed and chest heaving like he's been running. He spots Dimitri and Dedue eating lunch at a nearby table and rushes towards them, his voice uncharacteristically shaky.

"Professor," Dedue starts, "what are you—"

"We must leave for Remire," Byleth says, gravely serious. "At once. I just received word from my father. Help me gather the rest of your classmates."

"Yes, of course," Dimitri says. He's dropping his fork and standing in an instant, food forgotten. Dedue does the same. "Let us depart at once."

Jeralt explains on the way. About villagers becoming violent, attacking and killing one another without cause or reason. Gruesome. Bloody. Dimitri’s stomach turns at the descriptions alone, admittedly cheery compared to the nightmarish sight that awaits them at their destination.

There’s screaming, fire, and the scent of blood and smoke hangs in the air. Dimitri's hands shake where he grips his lance, watching with horror as the savage villagers rip into their neighbors, snarling and growling in inhumane ways, their movements wild, sporadic. It's not natural by any means.

Horrifically enough, this sight is a familiar one. He's seen a scene very similar once before, four years ago, with burning buildings and screaming innocents, begging to be saved. Senseless destruction, all of it. Dimitri's head pounds and it takes him a moment to recollect himself, to banish the memories from that event for the time being.

Then he sees them. The group of people across the village, viewing the ensuing chaos as if it were mere entertainment. And Dimitri feels the rage within him build, white hot, spilling over the edge akin to tea overflowing a glass cup.

_The people responsible for this… They only deserve the worst end._

"First and foremost," Byleth says, seeming to read his thoughts, "we must ensure the remaining villagers are safe. There's no time to waste. We must split up and protect as many as we can, _now."_

Ingrid mounts her pegasus to fly over rubble to the east while Sylvain follows her on horseback, joined by Mercedes to assist anyone bearing injuries. Annette, Flayn, Felix, and Ashe take the west and Dedue, Dimitri, and Byleth forge straight ahead alongside Jeralt and several knights, protecting what villagers they can while barreling straight towards the enemy.

"Those soldiers." Byleth shouts to ensure he can be heard. "And those knights spectating, wearing black armor… Who are they?"

But this is far from Dimitri's greatest concern. Through his blurred anger he recognizes a familiar face, one he's encountered countless times…

Tomas, the librarian—but something isn't right. A sick grin and a bright flash of light later he stands before them as a different person entirely, someone wrinkly and grotesque, wicked and menacing. When he speaks he says his name is not Tomas, but Solon, though to Dimitri such specifics couldn't possibly matter less.

 _He's responsible for this._ Dimitri turns to Byleth. "We must destroy him," he says, eliciting a nod.

Predictably, the mysterious soldiers stationed near Solon have other plans. They brandish their weapons and begin to approach.

As Dimitri strikes one down he sees Byleth rush past him in a blur, jaw locked and eyes set hard as steel as he makes a beeline for Solon. He rolls to avoid a magical blast and uses the momentum to propel himself forward, boots kicking up dirt and ash as he raises his arm and swings the Sword of the Creator, blade sinking into Solon's side.

Solon gasps, staggering on his feet, and Byleth readies another swing. "It's over," he says.

But things have never been that easy. Solon grumbles some concerning sentiments about the incident serving as a ‘successful experiment’ and disappears in a flash, gone swiftly as a gentle wind.

Visibly frustrated, Byleth sheaths his sword and jogs back over to the group. Dimitri does not miss the blood soaking his shirt, and immediately snaps from his enraged stupor to further inspect it. "Professor, you are injured."

"I will heal it," Byleth replies simply, waving a hand. His tone is warm, but the warmth is not mutually held in his expression. "And you? Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I am fine. More than that, however…" Dimitri glances about their surroundings and grimaces, feeling rather defeated despite their victory. All this destruction… "I will go check to make sure that everyone is safe."

When he returns, the atmosphere is amiss. Byleth and Jeralt stand talking to each other, both appearing rather frazzled, and as Dimitri approaches Byleth faces him, brows furrowed deep. Anger lights his eyes, raw and intense.

"Dimitri," he says. "Is everyone well?"

Dimitri nods. "Yes. We… saved as many villagers as possible. Mercedes and Flayn are helping tend to wounds as we speak."

"Good. When they are finished, we shall return to the monastery." Byleth pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe this…"

"Did something happen?"

It's Jeralt who replies. "We'll explain when everyone is present," he says. "Right now what matters is cleaning up this mess. It's gonna make one hell of a report."

***

The Flame Emperor. The Death Knight. Solon.

The faces of enemies, deftly appearing through cracks in the walls. Sick, twisted individuals, aiming to harm the innocent simply for the sake of their own pleasure, or perhaps with a much larger goal in mind, like domination.

It matters not. Dimitri views them all the same. Regardless of their reasons they are unforgivable, _vile,_ and must be put down. His hands quake as he entertains the opportunity to encounter them yet again, taking their skulls and crushing them beneath his grasp. Watching the life drain from their eyes, and knowing he will have properly avenged those they have harmed.

The voices are vocal as ever, it seems, but it is not surprising. Dimitri reconsiders those long, dark nights spent in the library, the research he’d done in an attempt to find answers and how it’d led him to truths he somewhat wishes he could’ve remained unaware of.

Distrust. Betrayal. And, as a result, the tragedy. Dimitri sucks in a breath as he paces his quarters, the ghosts woefully trailing behind him. They demand vengeance, and Dimitri mutters reassurances under his breath in hopes to ease them. They do not relent.

Eventually, he exits his room. He cannot stand to be alone with his thoughts, not when they're this chaotic, tumbling. Inexplicably he recalls what Byleth had told him in the cathedral.

_Tell me what you are thinking._

Would it be safe to share? And is he capable of spilling forth the intangible whirlwind rampaging around in his mind, letting it become known, at last, to another person?

If it is going to be anyone, he muses, it should be Byleth. Despite his admittance to a lie that night Dimitri still trusts him, for what reason he cannot deem specifically. Nevertheless he knows it as he knows the sky is blue, that at present Byleth is the person he can depend on most.

Love has made him a fool.

He arrives at Byleth's office. Gingerly, he raises a fist and knocks against the wood.

Byleth's voice rings out from within. "Enter."

Dimitri steps into the room and closes the door after himself, relishing in the light comfort that is Byleth’s space. He’s always appreciated it’s neat simplicity, and today is no different. The candle placed on Byleth’s desk both illuminates the shared space and envelops it in a slight warmth—and Byleth, looking up from the paper he’d been writing on, slowly lowers his quill.

“Hello, Dimitri,” he greets, but does not smile. The lines on his face are contorted to reveal his exhaustion, probably the most raw emotion Dimitri has seen from him. “Did you need me?”

“Yes, actually.” Suddenly Dimitri feels the weight of the situation drop upon him, and the words he’d been internally rehearsing escape his memory. He can hear the ghosts mocking him. “Can I… can I sit?”

Byleth wordlessly gestures to the available chair, and in his haste Dimitri nearly sits on empty air. Once he is settled he places his hands in his lap, uncertain on how to start. There is so much…

“How… are you faring?” he asks awkwardly.

“Me? I am fine,” Byleth replies, dismissive. _“Tired,_ sure, but work demands me. My father went ahead and left me to write the report on today’s mission.”

“I see.”

“And you?” Byleth’s frown pulls deeper. “A lot happened today. You should get some rest.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I am not tired,” he says, “and, even if I was, I am not sure how well I’d be able to sleep considering what we saw earlier.”

“Indeed. I feel the same,” Byleth tells him. “Jeritza, the Death Knight… and now Tomas, who is actually named Solon…” He runs a hand through his hair. “They both lived among us, but they were actually our enemies. Not to mention that they have the Flame Emperor in their midst, and I can sense he is also formidable. We must not let our guards down.”

Dimitri’s hands clench, involuntarily shaking. Bile fills his throat. “We will defeat them, and make them pay for what they’ve done,” he spits.

“We'll get to that in a moment.” Byleth splays his fingers on his desk, straightening in his chair. “I would like to apologize.”

Dimitri snaps his gaze towards Byleth’s. “Apologize? For what?”

“My behavior, unfortunately,” Byleth replies. His expression saddens. “During the battle, I let my emotions get the better of me. It’s due to this I charged ahead without thinking, and why my abdomen was injured. Luckily no one else in the class was seriously hurt, but an error is an error. I will work hard to correct such mistakes in the future.”

It hurts to hear. Dimitri feels his hands grow clammy in his gloves, and when he replies he attempts to sound reassuring. “Professor, with all due respect, you should not be apologizing for how you feel. Like you said, you and your father know the people of Remire. It is understandable that you would be angry. It’s… It is I who should be sorry.”

“Dimitri…”

“I also let my emotions control me today,” Dimitri admits, hanging his head. He can no longer find the courage to meet Byleth’s eyes. “You saw a side of me I wish you hadn’t.”

He stares at the ground, anticipating the reprimand, the disapproval. His cheeks burn in shame as his deceased loved ones scowl at him, telling him this was bound to happen eventually. _As if the professor could ever love a monster!_ they chant. _A hopeless monster such as you!_

“Dimitri. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Dimitri lifts his head. When he does he’s surprised to see Byleth smiling, fond.

“Do you remember,” Byleth begins, “when I told you I would accept you no matter what? When I told you I would help you, whatever the case may be? I meant it, and I still do. I adore you, faults and all.”

"Professor." Dimitri is happy to hear this, of course, but he cannot understand _why—_ why Byleth, in spite of this, as well as knowing Dimitri’s feelings towards him, remains so kind. Why Byleth accepts him as he does, someone lowly as him.

It’s almost _cruel,_ how Byleth continues giving him hope. In a world full of death and betrayal he is a flower, untrampled. Something to be valued and loved, protected at every cost, and Dimitri wishes for nothing more than the opportunity to continue beholding him in his endless beauty, even if at a distance.

“Professor,” he repeats. He swallows hard. “May I speak my mind?”

Byleth nods. “I encourage it.”

“I… I love you,” Dimitri blurts. His fingers sink nervously into his lap, and he meets Byleth’s gaze as he repeats himself, this time with conviction. “I love you, Professor. Most ardently. I… Honestly, I cannot stop thinking about you. I always want to be around you. When others take up your time, it upsets me. It makes me feel like they’re trying to take you away from me, because they do not care for you as I do, and they do not understand how important you are. I—”

A lump forms in Dimitri’s throat and he nearly stumbles over what he wants to say. Whereas he could hardly speak any words mere moments earlier, now they spill forth from his lips in an endless stream. He is aware Byleth knew of his feelings prior but voicing them, finally, is enlightening. The weight on his chest is lifted and he is free, free to love.

Byleth blinks, surprised. “Dimitri,” he says. Then he smiles again. “Please. Tell me what it is you desire.”

“Yes, I…” Dimitri stands, and plants his hands on Byleth’s desk. He grips the edge of the wood until his knuckles begin to ache. “Professor, I would like for us to become closer. It is incredibly inappropriate, I know, and self-indulgent to boot, but I… I love you, and I sincerely believe we work well together."

“Do not hold yourself back for my sake.”

Dimitri nods, but he remains hesitant. “Are you sure? I told you already I am selfish. Professor, once I do this… I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop. I will want you to be mine, forever, and I will never let you go. And as much as I want it, I… I cannot force you into something that would make you unhappy.”

There's a gleam in Byleth's eyes Dimitri cannot decipher. He wets his lips and Dimitri can only watch the slow drag of his tongue over the pink flesh, mesmerized by the sight.

"What makes you think it would cause me to be unhappy?" he asks, soft. Sincere. "Dimitri, remember the time we've stolen. It is not time I would spend with just anybody. Please, do not doubt yourself." He pauses a moment, considering. Then, "Come here."

Dimitri doesn't hesitate. He rounds the desk and stands in front of Byleth, blushing a deep red, awaiting his answer. Somehow, he knows what it is before he even says it.

It is why he allows Byleth to take his hand, entangling their fingers. A shudder shoots up his spine when Byleth regards him through half-lidded eyes, an expression more sultry than Dimitri would give him credit for, and, finally, he speaks.

"If you wish to indulge, do so. As much as you want. I will not leave you."

Something within Dimitri snaps and he bends suddenly, capturing the professor's lips in his. Immediately he drinks in the sigh that escapes Byleth and spills into him, pressing harder, insistent. The kiss is clumsy and uncoordinated, and when their teeth press together uncomfortably he pulls away just as quickly, flustered.

Byleth's face is unreadable.

"I… My apologies," he sputters, embarrassed. He tries ripping his hand from Byleth's, but his grip tightens in response. "I've never done this," he admits, and manages a laugh. "That… was my first."

"I see." Byleth's free hand reaches up and curls into his hair, gently stroking golden locks until he abruptly yanks Dimitri's head back down. Their breaths mingle and Byleth whispers against him, "Worry not. I will teach you."

Byleth kisses him and he swears the blood sings in his veins, heart nearly palpitating at the thought that one of his many fantasies has actually come true.

Reality has its differences, though. For one, Byleth's lips are not soft as he imagined, but chapped and rough, and his kisses are not gentle. His tongue pushes into Dimitri's mouth as he moans into him, fingers tightening in his locks. There is a slight twinge of pain, yes, but Dimitri does not mind it, not when Byleth touches him like he's starving.

Eventually they pull apart. A string of saliva temporarily connects them, and breaks. Dimitri, to stop himself from toppling over, leans against the professor's desk.

He catches his breath. "You," he begins, lightheaded. "You are…"

Byleth swiftly stands, rising from his chair and shoving it unceremoniously across the room.

"I am selfish, too," he says, and takes Dimitri's face in both his hands, soothing his reddened cheeks with his thumbs. "Dimitri, you are—" He brings Dimitri in for a kiss, a light peck on the lips. "You are beautiful, and—" Another kiss. "I am—" And another. "I adore you. You light up my days, and bring me immense joy. I am yours, but you are mine, also. I have never felt this way for _anybody."_

"M-me too," Dimitri agrees, as Byleth's hunger falters for just a moment and he kisses him so tenderly it aches. "I love you… I love you so much… Professor—"

"Here," Byleth interrupts, "when we are doing this, I am not your teacher. And you are not my student." He takes Dimitri's wrist and presses a gentle kiss against a vein. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Dimitri nods. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I do. Byleth."

It feels odd speaking his name rather than his title, like he's broken an unspoken rule. However, the point becomes moot when he considers what they are presently doing, a teacher and student kissing passionately inside said teacher's office. It's a taboo if Dimitri's ever seen one.

Byleth's lips find his ear and he gasps, deciding he doesn't care. Goosebumps rise on his arms and Byleth gently nibbles on his earlobe.

"Good boy," he whispers.

 _Oh._ Dimitri gnaws on his lower lip, unable to help the guttural groan and slight twitch that emanate from him as a result of those sweet words. He instinctively plants his hands on Byleth's waist, drawing him nearer.

Byleth, whether good or bad, remains ever observant. "Do you like that?" he asks, and trails his fingers over Dimitri's throat. "Well, it is true. You are good, so perfect for me." He huffs, grins. "And you are beautiful when you blush."

"Byleth—" Dimitri is cut short as Byleth kisses him again, tongue pushing against his without reprieve as he simultaneously undoes the clasps on Dimitri's shoulders. A tug and Dimitri's cloak falls to the floor, forgotten.

The reality of his cloth being discarded catches up with him, and abruptly he breaks the kiss. "Byleth, are you… Will we—"

Byleth senses his nervousness. Leaning up, he kisses Dimitri's cheek. "Do not hesitate, my dear. Tell me what you are thinking."

Dimitri closes his eyes. "W-were we to do it, is your office a suitable location?"

"Perhaps not," Byleth admits. He ponders a moment. "Would you like us to retreat to my private quarters instead?" He smooths back Dimitri's hair. "I don't mind. I pride myself on my space being immaculate."

"No, it is… Here. Here is fine,” Dimitri says. They are already disheveled, he muses, and the chance of them walking to Byleth’s quarters without being seen is miniscule. And though Dimitri’s heart swells, and he would love nothing more than flaunting Byleth as his, he must also act rationally—as rationally as he _could_ be in the act of seducing his professor, that is.

Byleth hums, approving, and continues to stroke his hair. “If that is what you wish,” he replies, “so be it.” His lips curl upward in a smile. “I must allow you to indulge, after all.”

“Y-you are spoiling me, Prof— Byleth.”

“It seems I am,” Byleth whispers, and Dimitri melts beneath his light touches, his soothing voice. "Did you mean what you said? That you would not stop, and you would make me yours?"

 _"Yes,"_ Dimitri says, and shuts his eyes. He feels Byleth trace over the bags beginning to form beneath them, the result of many restless nights. "As long as I live… I will be with you."

"I see. And do you trust me to make you mine in return?"

"Yes," Dimitri repeats, earnest. "I do."

"Are you certain?" Byleth asks, and Dimitri looks at him. He frowns, appearing suddenly hesitant. "I have lied to you once before."

"I am aware." Dimitri's stomach stirs, this time for a reason besides his own youthful excitement. "I-I cannot accept it, the things you did in the past. I don't think I ever will."

"I don't expect you to," Byleth tells him, and gently places a hand upon his upper arm. Comforting. "Please. Tell me the truth."

Dimitri pauses, knowing Byleth is presenting him the opportunity for an out—to forget this, and walk away. But Dimitri has already made his decision, and he's verbally committed as much. He does not intend on going back on his word.

His searches deep and he sees, clearly, that Byleth is not the same as he once was. Whether it be that becoming a teacher is what changed him, or something else entirely… This Byleth, the one standing here in front of him, the one he has fallen in love with and confessed his feelings to and kissed passionately, is someone he greatly admires. Adores. More than anything.

As such…

"Byleth," Dimitri says, serious, "you told me you would not leave me, and I will not leave _you,_ either."

Byleth's shoulders relax, and he raises his brows, pleased. "I am glad. You said in the cathedral my untruth did not change your feelings for me, but I worried still. I feared you were speaking impulsively, and that you would walk yourself into something you'd later regret."

"You are right. I was being impulsive," admits Dimitri. "And I _am,_ presently, but… I love you. I have known this for a long while. I could never regret a future spent at your side."

Byleth does not answer, but that is alright. Dimitri involuntarily tightens his hold on his waist, finding no further room to speak. Quite honestly, he is tired of talking.

"Byleth. Kiss me again."

He does. In fact he does it more than once, meeting Dimitri's lips again and again, branding his name into Dimitri's pulse. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle drag of his gloved fingers on Dimitri's skin, sends him into a frenzy. Arousal pools deep in Dimitri's gut and his slacks inevitably become tight, physical evidence of his desire.

Byleth notices. He gropes Dimitri through his pants and swallows his moan with another heated kiss, and when Dimitri looks into his eyes he sees his pupils are dilated. Where there was once a deep blue becomes consumed almost entirely by black.

"What do you want, Dimitri?"

Ah. There is so much Dimitri wants, so much he wants Byleth to do to him—yet, poring over his options, he cannot decide what he wants _most._ Of all the ways Byleth can have him, and _take_ him…

"W-what about you?" Dimitri asks, and Byleth blinks in surprise. "Is there anything… you would like?"

He doesn't hesitate in his answer. His lips land on Dimitri's neck and he replies, "Against the wall… or on my desk." His mouth is warm, torturously so, and Dimitri grows weak in the knees. "Which do you prefer?"

"E-either would be amazing," Dimitri says, squeezing his eyes shut, moaning again when Byleth sucks on his skin. It is sure to leave a bruise later, but he doesn't mind. "Byleth, please… As long as it is with you…"

Byleth growls. "You are not making this easy for me."

Dimitri does not get the chance to ask what he means. Byleth's teeth sink into his throat and he cries out, thrusting his hips forward as he seeks more attention. His entire body heats, further exemplified when Byleth begins tugging at his breastplate, unlatching the straps of his armor so that he may remove it.

"Undress, Dimitri," he says, voice low, "and let me view every inch of you."

"I… Yes, Byleth," he replies, and swats Byleth's hands away to remove it himself. He feels incredibly self-conscious as he takes off his gloves first, letting the metal release his skin and expose it to the cool air. His lower arms now exposed, he removes the rest of the armor covering his upper body and carefully places it all atop Byleth's desk.

Byleth's gaze burns into him, and once every piece is removed he wastes no time in removing Dimitri's shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor with much less grace. Dimitri, having his torso exposed, blushes deeply.

Byleth pays his fidgeting no mind, fingers tracing the lines of his bare chest. Eagerly, he bends and presses a kiss to Dimitri's pectoral, and Dimitri anxiously waits for him to speak.

When he does, the knot wound tight around Dimitri's heart loosens.

"Beautiful," he says, and the word quivers as it falls from his lips, as if he were beholding something so spectacular it has rendered him speechless. "So strong…" He leans forward, gripping Dimitri's arm, and lowers his head. Several hairs brush Dimitri's bicep, a ticklish sensation. "You are perfect."

"No," Dimitri disagrees, "I am not. Far from it."

"Do not lament such unkind things," Byleth says. He twines their fingers together once more, and during the next moment they spend in contemplative silence Dimitri fully appreciates how Byleth's hand is surprisingly small in his, rough but also fragile. He wishes to feel them without the concealing leather.

"Byleth. I wish… Your gloves…"

He cannot utter more. Fortunately, Byleth understands what he is saying, and nods. "My apologies. It is only fair, since you removed yours."

Once they are gone and Byleth's bare palm meets his, Dimitri is overwhelmed by its warmth. A scene begins to play in his mind, imaginings of what it would be like having Byleth beside him, cherishing him like this, back in Fhirdiad. Warming him up on a cold winter's night, and sleeping on the same bed…

He shakes his head. No, he mustn't fantasize now. Not when the current moment presents business that remains uncared for. Glancing down, he can see such unfinished business protruding from between Byleth's legs, mostly hidden by restrictive clothing.

And so, Dimitri demands again. His request comes out sounding unnecessarily whiney, but in his desperation that is the least of his concerns.

"You," he says, pulling at Byleth's shoulders, "undress, too."

Something alights in Byleth's eyes. He shoves Dimitri back abruptly and crowds him against the desk, planting powerful arms on either side of him. Obviously Dimitri has misstepped, but he isn't sure how.

"But… but you said, what I desire—"

"I am aware," Byleth interrupts, "but your pleasure is more important. I'd like to properly worship your body, considering such an act is acceptable to you."

This alone is enough to make Dimitri's erection ache. He nods, swiftly, biting his lower lip to hold back a pleading sound. "Byleth, I would love nothing more."

Byleth makes a guttural noise before he fully gropes Dimitri's ass, hoisting him up by his thighs and dropping him unceremoniously upon the desk. The quill and papers clatter, but it is evident in Byleth's hungering expression he has either not noticed or decided not to care.

Dimitri gasps when kiss-swollen lips wrap around his nipple. They suck aggressively as Byleth slowly circles his thumb around the other, humming when Dimitri hisses out his name.

"Byleth… _Byleth…"_

Byleth pulls off. "My dear," he says, "please let me know if I hurt you, and I will stop in an instant."

"Y-you could never hurt me," Dimitri tells him, "but, if it comforts you… I will."

"Good boy," Byleth says. Dimitri's ears pink, but he doesn't get to comment as Byleth dives in and gives attention to the second nipple, lapping at it with his tongue—and Dimitri's back arches off the desk, unused to such stimulation.

It is overwhelming, but amazing. His head is spinning and each praise Byleth gives him further accelerates it, making him fear he may meet his release too soon. His cock demands Byleth's attention, demands levels of pleasure he's so far been unable to give himself, and though he knows he will be rewarded soon he cannot help but feel impatient. The kisses Byleth plants across his chest and stomach are nice, yes, but nothing will exceed the feeling of Byleth nestled within him, fucking him hard—

Belatedly, he realizes how low Byleth's lips have been trailing. Byleth begins tugging at his slacks and, frantic, he twists his fingers in Byleth's hair, pulling at the strands as a means to tell him to stop. He does, lifting his eyes and gazing at Dimitri through long lashes.

"What is the matter?" he asks, patiently.

"D-don't," Dimitri stammers. Byleth's face contorts in confusion, and he elaborates, "Not today, at least. I want you inside me. I want you to make me yours, and make love to me so great that I am only capable of crying your name."

Byleth smiles. "As you wish."

He rises and captures Dimitri's lips yet again, sloppy in his haste. As their lips mold together Dimitri yanks insistently at the armor attached to his shoulders, intending to tear it off. Byleth notices this and allows him, angling his head to kiss Dimitri's cheek while he removes the offending metal, letting that and his overcoat land somewhere on the floor behind them.

Byleth moves away only for a moment, lifting his shirt over his head and Dimitri drinks in the sight of his naked torso, scarred and muscular, with bandages covering the semi-fresh wound on his abdomen from the earlier battle. Dimitri considers lavishing him in the same attention he'd given him a moment ago, but the thought drifts away when Byleth pulls his legs apart and slots between them, eager cock pressing against his inner thigh.

Byleth leaves no room to speak. Immediately he begins rutting against him, face tucked delicately against Dimitri's shoulder as he grips his wrist and tugs him forward, letting him meet those haphazard thrusts halfway. Dimitri's legs reflexively wind around him, head thrown back and moaning loud in pure ecstasy.

Anyone passing by would surely hear them at this rate, Dimitri muses. And he never locked the door on his way in…

Somehow, knowing this thrills him further and he cups Byleth's face to bring him down for a kiss. Byleth meets him unflinchingly, working his tongue in such a way Dimitri starts to whimper pathetically. Even in his dreams it never felt like _this._

"P-please," he whispers between them. "Byleth, _please."_

Slowly, Byleth comes to a halt. He pants heavily and begins undoing Dimitri's slacks. "I will not be gentle," he warns. "I— You have excited me too much."

"I never wanted you to be."

It's all the permission Byleth needs. Dimitri's slacks and underwear are both pulled down in an instant, pooling at his ankles. Byleth wastes no time in tugging off his boots and removing them the rest of the way.

Dimitri, left bare to the world, cannot help but bury his face in his hands, feeling unbearably exposed. It's made worse by how intensely Byleth stares at him, tracing light circles on his thigh and thoroughly examining the muscles there.

Eventually Byleth pulls the hands from his face, kissing the corner of his lips. "Do not hide yourself away from me. Haven't I told you already how beautiful you are? My dear prince…"

Dimitri shudders. Whether it is from sitting upon the cold wood or Byleth's gentle words, he can't tell. "Byleth," he says, "when you compliment me so…"

"Do you enjoy it?" Byleth asks. Dimitri turns his gaze away but Byleth grips his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Answer me, love."

 _Love._ It's strange, how a single syllable can send unbridled warmth flooding through Dimitri's chest. He wishes Byleth could call him that every day.

"I… I do," he whispers. "It makes me feel… good."

Byleth chuckles. "Then I suppose I will never stop praising you. I will tell you how magnificent you are whenever I see you, and watch with pride as you flush adorably, as you always do."

"Does this…" Dimitri processes what he is saying, and like connecting puzzle pieces it finally clicks. "Does this mean you knew? About my feelings, I mean."

"Dimitri," Byleth says, "I am not blind, nor a fool. For months I have been aware, but I did not want to embarrass you by confronting you. I figured it be best to let you confront those feelings on your own, and come speak to me when you accepted them. Or not. Truthfully, it didn't make much of a difference either way."

Dimitri shakes his head. "Why? Why didn't it matter?"

"Because I didn't want you to be uncomfortable," Byleth answers. "Your feelings could have gone unsaid and I wouldn't have minded, as long as you were happy."

But Dimitri still can't comprehend it. "What about _your_ happiness?"

"Insignificant," Byleth dismisses. He gently traces the lines of Dimitri's abs. "Isn't that what love is, valuing the other's well-being above your own? Wanting them to live their lives without a single worry, even if it hurts you? Regardless of whether or not you had spilled your heart to me tonight, I'd have spent my every waking moment ensuring you are safe and joyous. I want you to prosper, and excel, and if what ensures that is me at some point leaving your life, I will accept it."

"No," Dimitri says, and takes Byleth's hand in both of his, squeezing desperately. "You mustn't. I need you."

"I was being hypothetical, my dear," Byleth reassures, and Dimitri relaxes. "I will not leave you if I can help it."

It is more comforting than Dimitri will ever admit. He practically melts as Byleth takes him in his arms, bringing him into a warm embrace. They remain this way for a while, until Byleth draws away and regards Dimitri cautiously.

"May we continue?"

Dimitri nods, and Byleth kisses him. It is softer than their hungered, impassioned ones, less needing and more savoring. Nevertheless, Dimitri feels the insistent rovering of Byleth’s hands on his lower back, moving downward to grope his ass—and, more shockingly, the slicked-up finger prodding at his entrance.

He makes a strangled noise at the abrupt intrusion, wrapping his arms around Byleth and drawing him closer, huffing when Byleth kisses the dip between his neck and shoulder. He does not know how or where Byleth managed to acquire oil, but he’s no room to question it as the slight sting causes his mind to become muddled and cloudy.

“Ah, B-Byleth, you…”

Byleth’s finger sinks into him and he keens, arching his back off the desk. Byleth steadies him using his free arm. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. His words are muffled but Dimitri hears them with startling clarity, nodding his head and wiggling his hips to urge Byleth in deeper.

Byleth, however, has other plans. He grips Dimitri’s side, effectively stopping him. “I will not continue unless you speak to me.”

 _“Yes,”_ Dimitri answers, panting. “I-I have, imagining _you._ I have… dreamed about it, too. This.”

“This?” echoes Byleth, bemused. “Please, clarify.”

 _So that is the game you want to play,_ Dimitri thinks. Yet he will play along anyway, mere putty in his professor’s hands as he is pleasured so thoroughly he cannot find the strength to argue. Right now the only thing that matters is appeasing Byleth, making it so he receives his due reward.

“H-having sex,” he professes, speaking between heavy breaths. “You, making love to me, telling me how much you cherish me… Making me yours, and accepting me as someone of great significance in your life.”

“Oh, my prince,” Byleth says, “you are already significant to me. My favorite student. My dearest friend.”

Dimitri’s reply is cut short at the entrance of a second finger, interrupting himself with a moan. The stimulation is amazing, all-encompassing, Byleth working his fingers expertly and bringing him near the edge. His cock strains against his stomach and he wonders briefly if he’ll be able to last much longer.

Byleth seems to understand his thoughts. His free hand promptly wraps around Dimitri’s cock, giving a slow stroke upward and eliciting another hearty moan.

“The sounds you make are delightful,” Byleth tells him, lifting his head to brush his lips against Dimitri’s ear. “Let me hear your voice. I love listening to it.”

“W-what if… someone were to overhear us?” Dimitri asks, gasping, but regardless cries out again when Byleth inserts a third finger. His sight begins to blur over. He won’t last…

“You needn't worry," Byleth assures him. "Manuela and Hanneman have already turned in for the night"—here he pushes his fingers in at a certain angle, one that has Dimitri's toes curling from how good it feels—"and I doubt any students would want to come visit me at this hour, either."

"Besides me," Dimitri chokes out.

"Yes," Byleth agrees, "but, considering the circumstances, I daresay you are an exception."

Dimitri doesn't have anything to say to that. It's hard to, when Byleth's thumb rubs over the tip of his cock and his orgasm washes over him in a wave. White floods his vision and a scream rips past his throat, and Byleth swiftly swallows with a kiss.

He turns his face, letting Byleth's lips touch his cheek instead as his chest heaves and he comes down from his high, body tingling. His legs are shaking and yet he cannot feel them.

Byleth smiles, sweeps away the damp strands of hair plastered to his forehead. "Are you alright?"

"Better than alright," Dimitri breathes. "That was… amazing."

"I am glad. We haven't even gotten to the best part."

It doesn't take long to understand what he means by that. Byleth pulls down his cloths just enough to expose his own cock—which, to Dimitri's surprise, is smaller than his—and begins coating it in the slick oil, groaning low as he touches himself. The sounds are enough to make Dimitri half-hard despite his recent release.

"Byleth…"

Byleth shushes him, and with a light shove to his shoulder coaxes Dimitri to lay atop the desk. Dimitri swallows as Byleth grabs his legs, spreading them further, staring upon him bearing a lustful gaze.

"If you experience any pain," he tells Dimitri, serious, as he once more assumes position between his legs, "do not hesitate to let me know. What last I want is to hurt you."

 _I would prefer it if you did,_ Dimitri thinks, but does not say. They can explore that possibility another time.

Byleth pushes in, slowly. Dimitri bites the inside of his cheek, letting his head drop on the desk as he steadies his breathing, willing himself to remain calm. It isn't until Byleth is fully sheathed within him that he realizes his muscles are taut, and he relaxes them. Byleth, meanwhile, strokes his hair, waiting for him to adjust.

He inhales sharply. “I… I’m ready,” he manages, mustering all the strength he can gather. His heart pounds loud in his chest as Byleth bends, tucking a kiss beneath his chin. He pulls out partway and slams back in again, and the effect it has on Dimitri is instantaneous. _"Byleth!"_

He cannot see Byleth's face, but he's sure he is smirking. "Dimitri," he says, "next time I promise I will treat you as you deserve. I will wine and dine you, and touch you in all the right places, bedding you properly. I will praise you endlessly and let you know how well you are doing, watching as you fall apart on my cock. But tonight…"

He slams in at a different angle and Dimitri chokes on a sob, stars erupting his vision.

"Tonight I cannot contain myself."

"Byleth…" Dimitri sinks his nails into the wood of the desk as Byleth thrusts into his repeatedly, his movements hard and fast but also oddly rhythmical—as expected, despite his warnings, he remains cautious enough to ensure he doesn't cause Dimitri any unnecessary pain. It is immensely endearing.

"Tell me what you are thinking," Byleth says. His voice breaks, making it apparent he isn't faring much better than Dimitri. The realization is comforting, and Dimitri takes pride in knowing _he_ is the reason the professor is like this, on the verge of losing the composure he has managed to keep for so long.

"Dimitri?" Byleth asks, when Dimitri doesn't respond. "Answer me."

"I… Harder, Byleth, _please."_

Byleth needs no further encouragement. He grips Dimitri's thighs, sinking his fingers into the milky flesh and using it as leverage to urge himself in deeper, faster, moans agonizingly loud in such a quiet room. Dimitri matches those pleased noises with his own, and as his orgasm imminently approaches a second time he tightens, preparing.

Byleth's thrusts become gradually sporadic, desk rocking from the force. He utters several words, stumbles, starts again. _"Dimitri,"_ he groans, and Dimitri muses that he will never tire of hearing Byleth speak his name. "Dimitri, I am going—"

"Me, too," Dimitri says. "Byleth, I won't… I won't last much longer."

"Cum for me," Byleth tells him, canting his hips forward sharply. "Do not— _damn it_ —do not hold back."

A hand wraps around Dimitri's cock once more and, as if on command, he does. He screams Byleth's name as he cums, this climax much more intense than the first. His entire body convulses and he blacks out, minutely consumed by darkness until he hears a drawn out grunt and feels warmth spill into him.

He blinks. When his vision returns to him he sees the familiar sight of the ceiling. Then, suddenly, Byleth's face comes into view, handsome as ever. His features are held in a calm warmth.

"Dimitri."

Dimitri smiles, lightheaded but happy. "Byleth."

Byleth draws away. "Stay put," he says, and warily pulls out. Dimitri makes a small sound at the loss and, disobeying his request, slowly begins to push himself up by his elbows. His lower back aches at the movement, and he winces.

"Patience," sighs Byleth, and bends to collect their clothes off the floor. He glances at the door, then Dimitri. He appears uncertain. "Are you alright? I would hate for you to overexert yourself."

 _Right._ Dimitri frowns. He'll need to return to his dorm.

"I am fine," he replies, but Byleth is unconvinced.

"Perhaps I was too rough. Please, let me walk you to your room."

"There is no need for concern. I am perfectly capable of returning on my own."

"Yet you can hardly sit up straight," Byleth snaps. "Here. Let me help you dress, at the very least."

Dimitri is unable to deny him, not when he is being this insistent. He says nothing as Byleth dresses him, pulling the clasps on his armor and locking them in place, making minor adjustments to ensure nothing looks out of the ordinary. He combs Dimitri's hair with his fingers until it is no longer mussed.

Dimitri grabs his wrist, stopping him. Byleth looks at him quizzically. "Were you… serious, when you said we would do this again?"

"Considering that is what you would like, yes," Byleth replies, nodding. A grin tugs at his lips. "Were you having doubts?"

"No, it isn't that. I…" Dimitri trails off, uncertain.

"What ails you, my prince?"

"The path I walk," Dimitri whispers, and averts his gaze. "It is not a pleasant one. Are you sure you want to follow it?"

Byleth contemplates this. "This path you speak of… Where does it lead?"

"Vengeance," Dimitri answers, "for everyone I have lost. My father, my stepmother, my friends. They all died at the hands of wicked people… The same people who were responsible for what occurred at Remire. I mustn't stop until they are annihilated."

"So it was the truth you were investigating," Byleth muses. "Those behind the Duscur tragedy, and Remire… You are sure they're the same?" Dimitri nods. "I see. If that is the case"—he brings Dimitri's hand to his face, placing it upon his cheek tenderly—"then I will follow you. Loyally."

Dimitri's heart leaps. "Thank you, Byleth. Your support means the world."

"As your teacher," Byleth says, "but also as your friend, and now your lover… I will continue fighting at your side. Whenever you need me, please ask."

"The same to you." Dimitri leans forward and steals a quick kiss. "I will stay by your side, no matter what."

They fall silent. However, another matter soon comes to mind, and Dimitri asks sheepishly, "Would it be acceptable… if I told Dedue about what happened tonight?"

"Dedue?" Byleth echoes, listing his head. "Told him about us…"

"Not about the sex," Dimitri elaborates. He flushes. "I meant you returning my feelings. He… has also known about my love for you, and I believe he'd be overjoyed to know it is reciprocated."

"So be it. I shall prepare for his visit to my office tomorrow," Byleth deadpans. Dimitri laughs at that.

"I love you, Byleth."

Byleth smiles. "I love you, too. Let's work to create a bright, happy future. Together."

***

The several weeks following are expectedly busy. The Ethereal Moon hosts both the White Heron Cup and the ball, after all, and in spite of the events which transpired the moon prior Dimitri's classmates are buzzing with excitement, sharing their enthusiasm for the festivities.

"I can't wait!" Annette says, quite literally shaking in her seat. "There's gonna be so many nobles there, doing their noble thing, and— Oh, wait, I should wear something nice, shouldn't I? I'll want to fit in, and… yes, I suppose that means wearing extra makeup, too…"

Mercedes giggles. "Calm down, Annie. Lest all the boys there fall instantly in love with you."

"Mercie!" Annette blushes. "I'm not interested in such things… but it _would_ be nice…"

Byleth shakes his head bemusedly. "We will discuss the ball in a moment," he says, and walks around from behind his desk. He lets his gaze fall on each of his students. "For now, let me bring up the matter of the White Heron Cup. Lady Rhea instructed me to choose a representative for our class. Should the chosen student win, they will be able to train as a dancer."

Annette raises her hand at once.

"Me!" she says. "Choose me! I would make a great dancer!"

"I'm also interested in volunteering," Mercedes adds, "though I think Annie would make a wonderful dancer. You should choose her instead."

"Aw, Mercie, you're so sweet!"

Flayn raises her hand, as well. "If it is alright, I would also like to volunteer. The White Heron Cup sounds like it will be lots of fun!"

Byleth nods. "Yes. Is that everyone who's interested, then?"

Annette twists her head. "I also volunteer… Ingrid!"

Ingrid jumps. "Wait. Why me?"

"I dunno! I just think you'd make a really pretty dancer."

"I understand," Ingrid grumbles, "but that is only if I win. I'm not, ah, actually that cut out for dancing, and I'm not very charming, either. Professor, you should choose someone more fitting for the task at hand."

"But you _are_ fitting!"

"This is a waste of time," Felix says. Dimitri hates to say that he agrees.

"If you wanna pick someone charming," Sylvain inserts, "why don't you choose Flayn? She's practically swimming in charm. And she'd look nice in that dancer outfit, too."

Flayn glares at him. "Was that last part really necessary?"

Annette ponders the possibility. "Yes… yes, I see it! Flayn is still super new to our class, too, and it'd be a great way to help her feel included. She's one of us, after all, and she's really important! Everyone at the monastery should get the chance to see her in action."

"I agree," Mercedes says. "Flayn would be an excellent pick."

Ingrid nods as well. Byleth, cupping his chin in one hand, considers it. "Is everyone in agreement?"

The students each speak their agreement, some enthusiastically, some begrudgingly. Flayn perks up in her seat, blushing. "Thank you so much! It is an honor. I will practice as much as I can, so not to let anyone down!"

"I will have to take you to see Manuela later," Byleth tells her. With that, the discussion comes to a close. "As for today's lesson…"

Once the lecture has concluded Dimitri bends to pick an imaginary object off the floor, listening intently as his fellow students exit the classroom. It's only when they have gone Byleth begins approaching him, stoic features melting away to a warm smile.

"You look tired," he says.

Dimitri shakes his head. "I am fine," he dismisses. "What of you?"

"I feel as though I'm losing my mind," Byleth admits, laughing. "I've been running around, assisting with the preparations. Manuela suggested taking me into town to buy a fancy outfit, but I'm afraid these sort of events aren't… Well, they aren't meant for me."

Dimitri grimaces. "I certainly share the sentiment. I've never been one for such jollity, either."

"Aren't you a prince?" teases Byleth. Dimitri furrows his brows.

"It makes no difference. I've never gotten entirely used to it."

"Then perhaps we will spend the night struggling together," Byleth offers. "I am not sure how to dance myself, but I hope you will teach me."

"I'd love to."

"Good." Byleth's smile broadens still. "Onto another important issue. Your birthday is next week, isn't it?"

"I… It is," Dimitri mutters.

Byleth hums. "You should be more enthusiastic," he says, and carefully runs his fingers through Dimitri's hair. Dimitri automatically leans into the touch. "I plan on taking you in a proper bed."

Dimitri chokes, sputters. "Professor—"

"No one is here but us. Call me by my name."

"Byleth," Dimitri corrects, "don't you think speaking of such things in the classroom is a bit… inappropriate?"

"Why?" Byleth's eyes gleam. "Did you want to do it here? I don't have any oil on my person presently, but we could—"

Dimitri rises. "I must go."

He quickly exits the classroom, and Byleth lets him leave. He is sure he'll want to speak to him again later, anyway.

***

Their second tryst is much more benign. It is also much more in line with Dimitri’s old fantasies, as he lies back on Byleth’s bed and Byleth thrusts into him tenderly, pressing affectionate kisses on his lips and telling him he loves him over and over again.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, and Dimitri moans beneath him. Everywhere he touches sparks like electricity, hot and dangerous. “My beautiful, sweet prince… Let me hear you.”

Try as he might, Dimitri does not last long. He spills between them with a cry of his name, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Byleth wipes them away and, not long after, meets his own release, groaning low and then pulling out his spent cock. Panting, he collapses on the bed and tugs Dimitri against him.

“Tell me what you are thinking.”

Dimitri takes a moment to mull over his answer. “I am thinking,” he says, “I cannot decide whether I prefer it rough or gentle.”

“Then I will have to pleasure you many more times,” Byleth replies, “so you may reach your decision.” He rests his ear against Dimitri’s chest. “Ah, the sound of your heartbeat. How I love it.”

“Byleth, is it… Er, that is to say… May I request something of you?”

Byleth chuckles, snuggling closer. “Anything.”

“When I— When it— After I…” He falters. Byleth lifts his head and gazes at him curiously, waiting patiently. “Once I graduate from the academy, can you… Will you return to the Kingdom—to Fhirdiad—with me?”

“The Kingdom?” Byleth hesitates. “I would love to, but… Oh, but my father, he will likely stay here serving as a knight, and—”

“That is right,” Dimitri says. “You have never been apart from him, have you?”

“I… I am not sure.”

Dimitri closes his eyes. “I am sorry. It wasn’t my intention to drop such an important decision onto you.” Still, he cannot disguise the disappointment present in his voice. “Forget I asked.”

 _“No,_ Dimitri, it is…” Byleth sighs. “I will go.”

“You… What?” It is not the response he was expecting, but he is delighted—so delighted, in fact, he sits upright suddenly, aching minutely at the movement but ignoring it. “Byleth, are you certain?”

“Yes,” he says, sitting up as well. He takes Dimitri’s hands in his, squeezing tight. “I love you, Dimitri, and I long for nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. I am sure my father will understand.” He smiles. “I will go,” he repeats.

Dimitri kisses him. Once, twice, three times. He kisses him until they are both out of breath, and pulls away to gaze at him adoringly. His heart swells with contentment. “Byleth, together… There is nothing we won’t be able to do. Honestly, I… I will feel a lot more confident ascending the throne if you are there.”

Byleth is left unable to answer as Dimitri crashes their mouths together. His tongue swipes at the seam of Byleth’s lips and Byleth pulls away abruptly, cocking a brow. “Don’t get too excited, my dear,” he says, amused. “We must get _some_ rest.”

“Right.” Dimitri blushes. “I, uh…”

“If you cannot sleep, that is fine. Just lay here beside me.”

“Yes,” he replies, distant. “Of course.”

They lie down once more and Dimitri gathers Byleth in his arms, grabbing the blanket so he can pull it over both of them. Byleth presses a kiss to his collarbone and falls asleep breathing steadily, a source of great warmth during such a cold night.

Against all odds, Dimitri manages to find sleep. Granted, it does not last long, and he wakes shaking from the remnants of a nightmare, but Byleth holds him through it and mutters reassurances until he calms down.

When he falls asleep again Dimitri listens to him snore and, at least for a short while, finds peace in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated! also, feel free to talk me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/catboybelphie) im always up for making new friends


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